Our Design
by SkyrimAndSwords
Summary: While working on multiple investigations and trying to discover the Chesapeake Ripper, Will Graham is mentally torn. One psychiatrist is driving him to madness, the other he is falling in love with. Could she be the one to save him? Or will Hannibal make him lose his mind? Will Graham/OC (ratings will change)
1. I: Ms Cowan

**HEY EVERYONE. I love Hannibal soooo much. Oh my god, it's perfectly written and the cinematography is beyond compare. The story writing and the characters are so well developed and the symbolism and connections just UGH. I LOVE IT. I've decided to make a Will Graham/OC story, so I hope you like it. Hopefully it won't end up as sad as Silver Tongued Devils. Thanks!**

**ALSO. Huge shoutout to my sister Dakota (IndecisivePsycho and Scruffynerfhearder) for editing my story, helping me think things through, and keeping me sane. I love her more than life itself 3**

**I do not own any of the characters other than Norah Cowan.**

"I shoot Mr. Marlow twice, severing jugulars and cartoids with near-surgical precision. He will die watching me take what is his away from him. This is my design." Theresa Marlow frantically pushed the panic code into the home security key pad when Will shot her expertly through the throat, missing her jugular, breaking her neck, and peppering the keypad with blood. She dropped to the floor.

"I shoot Mrs. Marlow expertly through the neck. This is not a fatal wound. The bullet misses every artery. She is paralyzed before it leaves her body. Which doesn't mean she can't feel the pain...it just means she can't do anything about it. This is my design." Will finished punching in "OFF" on the alarm code the blaring home security alarm was mercifully silenced. The phone immediately rang, the noise breaking Will from his fantasy only to reunite with reality at the scene of the crime.

He shook his head lightly as a fellow investigator handed him the incident report from the home security company. Examining them, he said, "This was recorded as a false alarm, there was a false alarm last week..." he held the papers down and thought for a moment before adding, "He tapped their phone."

The pendulum swung in front of his eyes again as his empathetic powers and overactive imagination were set to work. He observed what happened, placing himself as the murderer as always. Holding up recordings of Theresa's previous phone conversations to the security speaker, it was a perfectly executed trick to get away from the crime scot-free. _Smart man,_ Will thought, turning to the woman dying on the floor by his feet. "And this is where it gets truly horrifying for Mrs. Marlow."

The next morning, Will Graham gave a lecture to FBI trainees, avoiding eye contact with any of the students out of social anxiety. Photos of the crime scene he attended last night were displayed overhead as he explained them, finishing with, "Why did she deserve this? Tell me your design. Tell me who _you_ are." The students were dismissed, a few shot smitten glances in Will's direction. He was, of course, oblivious to this, instead warning his students as they left, "The sad, dull truth of these crimes is they can usually be reduced to a male penetrative control issue. I am expecting a higher level of scrutiny." The last of the trainees filtered out, and Will noticed he was alone in his lecture hall with a weathered, austere man.

"Mr. Graham," the man said.

Will strategically moved the rim of his glasses to block Jack's eyes and prevent direct eye contact. The man continued, "I'm Special Agent Jack Crawford, I lead the Behavioral Science Unit."

"We've met."

Jack knew full well they had met before, but didn't intend to broach. "Yes...we had a disagreement about the museum when we opened it."

"I disagreed with what you named it."

"The Evil Minds Research Museum?"

"It's a little hammy, Jack."

Jack admired Will's directness as he returned the favor, "You've hitched your horse to a teaching post. I understand it's not easy for you to be sociable-"

"-I'm just talking at them. I'm not listening to them. It's not social."

"Where do you fall on the spectrum?" Jack inquired about Will's unique state of mind.

Will picked up the rhythm and syntax of Jack's voice in his response, "My horse is hitched to a post closer to Aspergers and autistics than narcissists and sociopaths."

"But you can empathize with narcissists and sociopaths."

"I can empathize with anybody. Less to do with personality disorders than an active imagination." Will wasn't afraid to admit he had personality disorders and wasn't social, that he could empathize on a borderline unhealthy scale and use his overactive imagination to determine why and how a murderer acted.

Jack smiled before leaning in and saying, "Can I borrow your imagination?"

It was late after Will assisted Jack and evaluated the elements of the crime the bureau had collected. He was driving home in the drizzling rain, and his headlights were the only thing providing the ability to see the road before him. Fog danced slowly in the distance and the black sky was moonless. The dog he had found wandering the road sat in the front seat beside him as Will made his way home. "Winston..." Will started talking to the dog, "We're gonna clean you up when we get home, alright?" Will always felt at ease when he talked to animals, though others might judge him for it or find him creepy. Dogs listened and loved unconditionally, something Will found only humans _claimed_ they could do. With humans, there was always a catch. Will reached out his right arm and scratched the dog lovingly behind the ears and stroking down the dogs back. Doing this, he felt calm, causing his mind to drift.

The girl mounted on the elk antlers he saw today flashed before his eyes, dark maroon blood dripping down her torn up, naked, blue-white body. His vision seemed to zoom in on the fact her organs had been skillfully removed, most likely for human consumption, and he couldn't shake the image of the horns piercing through her in awkward, painful places. Unknowingly, he closed his eyes, his heartbeat fading to a high-pitched constant ringing in his ears. He felt overwhelming grief and disgust, could feel not only the girl's fright and confusion at the time of death, but the murderer's near-lust obsession, his crazed methods and beliefs, his insanity, all seemingly becoming justified right in front of him...

A loud honk brought Will Graham back to reality as a dark blue car swerved out of his way and into the side of the road, stopping harshly against a tree. He had drifted into the wrong lane. Slamming on his brakes, a wide-eyed Will spoke timidly and nervously to himself, "Oh...oh no, no no no..." He pulled over, telling Winston to stay in the car. Winston whined a little but did as he was told, watching Will out the window. Running over to the accident, the blue car's door swung open, a woman stepping out, clutching her head and bending slightly over out of pain. "Are you okay?!" Will yelled out to her, coming closely. The dark made him feel a little less anxious interacting with someone new.

"Am I okay? More like are you okay?" she replied bitterly. Will felt the hostility radiating from her.

"I am so, so sorry," Will came closer. "I must have..." What was he to tell her? That he was fantasizing about mounting a teenage girl on a rack of antlers? "...fallen asleep at the wheel."

"You always sleep with your eyes open?" the woman asked, still bitter but with a lower volume. _My eyes were open? _Will questioned himself as she continued, "Ugh. Fuck! Look at my car..." Her Honda Civic was crushed into a tree in the front, the hood popped open and the right mirror fallen off.

"I will pay for that, I am so sorry, more importantly, are you alright?" Timidly, he provided a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Here, let me look at that." She removed her hand from her head, blood lightly streaming from a minor wound at the base of her hairline. "Are you a doctor?" she asked, still hostile.

"I'm an FBI profiler," he told her, examining closely, his breath warm in the night air. "And I lecture from time to time at the FBI training facility." He pulled away delicately out of nerves rather than affection. "You may have a concussion but it's unlikely. I doubt you'll need stitches, but you'll certainly want to clean it up."

"Thanks," she told him, "I'll ice it when I get ho...Great. I need to call triple A, find a way to get home..." She pulled out her phone. "No service," she snarled. "Of course. Perfect."

"I can drive you home, if you want." Will seemed unaware of how dangerous the offer was, yet felt her dubious attitude towards his proposition. "Getting in a car, with a strange man, at the middle of the night...why is my gut telling me no," she laughed.

"Hey. Like I said, I work with the FBI, I'm one of the safest people you can ride with-"

"_HA!" _she replied, "You just got in an accident, what are you talking about 'safe'?". Her tone was suddenly more lightened, causing Will to smile slightly.

"You're the one out in the middle of the night, too," he continued. "Let me take you home. It's the least I can do." She considered it for a moment, inhaling deeply before replying. "Okay. But _only_ because you're a law enforcer."

"Winston!" he commanded when they got to the car. "Get back! Come on Winston!" He clapped his hands and was almost shocked at how the dog listened and moved to the backseat, probably a command taught by his previous owner. Will looked down and saw the muddied passenger seat, laying down his jacket over the mud for her to sit on.

"Thank you..." she sat down and buckled her seat belt. "Your dog may need a bath..."

Will slammed the car door behind him and started driving as well, "I just found him on my way home from work! On the side of the highway, wandering. No owner information on the collar. I figured I might as well take him in rather than him getting...you know...plowed to death by a couple Ford Escapes and a Wonder Bread delivery truck."

She chuckled slightly under her breath. "Oh, forgive me-" Will started, nervously, "I'm Will Graham."

"Nora Cowan. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," he replied in an unintentional monotone. After a moment of silence he asked, "What...do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a psychologist. I just got the job at the Behavioral Science Bureau-"

"Did Jack hire you?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

"Yes." Silence again. "We are...working on a case right now, together, actually. Where am I taking you?"

"Well, like I said I'm just moving here, so I'm staying pretty far out...the Hilton south of downtown?"

Will listened to the car chug along before looking at the amount of gas he had in his car. "Yeah...I don't know if I can take you there tonight-"

"What?" she asked, Will felt her fear and immediately reacted to soothe it.

"I know you don't want to stay at the house of a stranger but we are both... friends... of Jack Crawford, if it makes you feel any better, I'll sleep in the car and you can have the entire house to yourself, that's the only option I have!"

Norah sighed heavily, muttering "I can't believe this." Her elbow was propped against the window of the car, her head in her hands. "Okay. Fine."

"Alright," Will replied, turning the car around easily in the otherwise unoccupied stretch of road.

When they got to the house, it didn't put Norah at ease that he had several dogs and no neighbors in sight. She did, however, lighten up when she saw the state of his home, and how he lit up at the sight of his pets. "Everybody," he started, releasing the new found dog into his home, "This is Winston. Winston...this is everybody." He watched as the dogs accepted the new one into their pack, yet another thing Will preferred dogs to humans for. Their ability to accept.

He addressed Norah, "So! This is it...this is my home...Uhhh, you can take the bed upstairs and...I'll sleep out in the car," he laughed awkwardly and nervously.

"Don't be silly. I'm not kicking you out of your home, which is really nice by the way. I'll take the couch."

In the light of his home, he could finally get a good look at Norah Cowan. She was about 5'4, with wavy dark chocolate- brown hair that ended just below her breasts..._Don't linger Will, don't linger,_ he told himself while analyzing. They were nice though, from what he saw. He payed closer attention to her eyes, a hazel-green, accented by slightly untamed eyebrows. Her high cheekbones cast prominent shadows against her pale skin, her chipped dark purple nail polish not matching her outfit at all. Not that she cared. He could tell. She didn't wear much makeup, though whatever she had on was smudged slightly from a long, stressful day. Her body was toned, probably a runner, maybe into aerobics. She was wearing a tank top and somewhat shape-conforming sweatpants, obviously wearing clothes that she wouldn't have a hard time moving boxes in. Overall, she was beautiful. Tired, slightly bloodshot, dark circled eyes, but pretty nonetheless.

"If you say so...I'll go get some ice and disinfectant for that gash." He retreated to this kitchen, out of sight but still in earshot, continuing, "I am so, so sorry-"

"It's okay, these things happen," she said in a monotone. He sensed something new in her. Maybe in the new light she saw him and was taken with him as well? The thought made him smile, however false it might have been. He knew that wasn't why. When he retrieved the items she needed, he saw her looking at his rather large collection of books.

"All of these seem pretty..."

"Dark?" He finished for her. "Here-" he motioned over to a chair for her to sit in.

"-Thank you...yeah, you kind of have an ongoing theme there. It's okay. I'm into that too. As you can probably tell by my career..." She paused as he began tending to the wound for her. "You don't have to-"

"-It's okay, really." He gently dabbed at the wound with a wet rag, removing the blood.

"...So you live alone?" she asked, her head still but her eyes still darting around the home.

"Uhh, yes." It took him a moment to realize the appropriate response. "What about you?"

"I do, yeah. Thanks for this, but I can go...dress it or whatever myself if you want to give Winston his bath?"

Will stepped back and lowered his arm, the sleeves rolled up. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah! Of course, go initiate him into the Graham family." She laughed, followed by him.

"The Grahamily," he replied, kicking himself mentally for making such a lame joke. "Alright. If I don't have what you need here, the mirror is a medicine cabinet, the bathroom is on your left upstairs.

A freshly bathed Winston rested at the foot of Will's bed while he went through his nightly routine. He wore a baggy grey t-shirt without any sort of logo on it and blue boxers, spitting out the remaining toothpaste from his brushed teeth into the sink. He then flossed, used some sort of off-brand Listerine, washed his face and took a couple deep breaths. Looking in his closet, he put on a plaid robe and then got a soft blanket for Norah to use.

She was sitting on the couch, one of his dogs had joined her, and she was talking to him sweetly. The sight warmed him and after observing for 30 seconds or so, he made it apparent he was in her presence. "I brought you a blanket," he told her. "Let me know if you need more, it can get kinda cold."

"Thank you," she replied, accepting the blanket, "But that should keep me through the night as well," she nodded to the fire he had started up for her after he bathed Winston. "Are you okay?" she asked him. "You look a bit pale."

"I'm always like this," he joked. "No, I'm fine. Just...work."

She made room for him on the couch, the dog she was loving jumped down to make room as well. Will sat down in a stiff motion, his hands folded and his knees kept together under his robe. The dog hopped back up on the couch between them.

"Is Jack a total hard ass or something?" she asked, concerned about her new coworker.

"Not a _total_ hard ass," he said in all seriousness, yet she managed a giggle. She let him continue. "It's just...it's hard. Eventually, it becomes...difficult to look. I guess." She kept listening to him, and it became clear to him that she was not just a psychologist, but she generally cared for his well-being. Sensing this put him a little on edge, but in a good way that he wasn't all familiar with. "Some things you just...can't unsee I suppose. But if I can help...well someone has to do it, right?"

She nodded before asking, "Do you think you're being pushed too hard? I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds here-"

"Of course not. Ahh...I don't think I'm getting pushed too hard but I think I will be taken advantage of," Will replied quickly. Norah's eyes seemed to light up. "Why do you say that?"

Will had the inexplicable urge to tell her about how tortured he was by his empathetic abilities, his social tendencies, his hyperactive imagination. But he refrained from doing so. "I guess you could just say, I'm good at what I do." Norah seemed unsatisfied by his answer. He sensed she was passionate about her career and wanted something interesting to analyze. "Thank you, Will. For letting me stay here-"

"-Why are you thanking me, I caused the accident?" he chuckled in a guilty tone.

"No you didn't," she replied. Her words stunned Will, of course he caused the accident. He locked eye contact with her, something he avoided at all times as she finished, "I think you're just going through a hard time. You've seen some horrible things, I'm sure. It's not your fault. Maybe you should talk to Jack about easing up a bit? Maybe...look into seeing a psychiatrist?"

Will nodded, legitimately considering her suggestions. He let her words sink in. "Perhaps," he responded before standing up. "I'm just glad you're okay," he told her. She began spreading out the blanket and laying down when he got off the couch. "Are you sure you want to sleep here? You can take my bed, I don't mind." He found himself helping her settle in, lightly pulling up the blanket for her. She didn't seem to mind. Moving her arms over the blanket she stretched up and sighed, "Yeah, here's fine." Norah reached behind her for her phone, and Will saw it was out of reach and handed it to her. "Thanks-" she checked her alarm. "What time should I get up tomorrow?"

"Whenever," he told her, shaking his head, "I mean...uh...I leave here around 7?"

"Should I just ride with you or..."

"Well I have to get gas, but I can drop you off at AAA or your hotel, wherever you need to go."

She yawned and propped herself up a little bit to speak to Will more conveniently. "AAA probably. Just so I can get my car. If it isn't trouble-"

"Like I haven't caused you enough trouble. I'll tell Jack I ran into you tomorrow-"

"Or you almost ran into me," she giggled. "Okay." She lightly touched his arm and said, "Goodnight, Will."

A socially awkward Will managed to stutter, "Sleep well, Norah," before retreating to his room and covering himself under the sheets. He decided to look into psychiatrists first thing in the morning, even though that night was the first in a long time of not having a nightmare.

**SORRY IT'S PRIMARILY EXPOSITION RIGHT NOW BUT I PROMISE THINGS WILL PICK UP 3 Love you guys.**


	2. II: Quantico

**OKAY CHAPTER TWO ARE YOU BITCHES READY LETS GO!**

**I only own Norah Cowan**

"Our brain is designed to experience anxiety in short bursts, not the prolonged foamy lathers of duress your neuroses seem to enjoy. It's why you feel as though a lion were on the verge of devouring you," Hannibal told his patient, Franklyn, as he eyes the tissue Franklyn tossed on the side table. He added, "You have to convince yourself the lion is not in the room. When it is, I assure you, you will know it." He stood, followed by his patient, and guided the man to the door. Opening it to usher Franklyn out, he found Jack Crawford waiting patiently outside.

"Doctor Lecter?" he inquired.

"I hate to be discourteous," Hannibal began, slightly confused, "but this is a private exit for my patients."

Jack didn't seem to care when he continued, "I'm Special Agent Jack Crawford with the F.B.I. May I come in?"

"You may wait in the waiting room." Hannibal eyes Jack's credentials, then dismissed Franklyn. "I'll see you next week, Franklyn," he said, before addressing Jack, "Unless, of course, this is about him."

"Oh, no. This is about you."

In his waiting room, Jack Crawford cooled his heels and idly picked up a magazine. The door opened and Hannibal stepped into the doorway. "Please. Come in," he blinked and forced a flat smile. Once inside, Jack began to observe Hannibal's collection of books and artifacts, admiring his art.

"May I ask how this is all about me?" Hannibal asked.

"You can ask," Jack answered, "But I do need to ask you some questions first. Are you expecting another patient?"

"We're all alone."

"No secretary?"

"Was pre-dispositioned to romantic whims. Followed her heart to the United Kingdom, sad to see her go."

"I understand you got an internship at Johns Hopkins..."

Hannibal's nostrils flared, his eyes dilated, but he exhaled a very calm observation. "I am beginning to suspect that you are investigating me, Agent Crawford." An eerie stillness occurred, as if lightning were about to strike.

"You were referred to me by a coworker in the psychology department at Georgetown."

Hannibal's demeanor changed ever so slightly. "Please," he offered a chair with a motion of his hand. "Sit down."

At the F.B.I Academy, in Quantico, Virginia, Will shuffled the papers on his desk into a neat stack before a knock on the door broke the silence of the room. He raised his head, adjusting his glasses to see who wanted his attention. It was Norah.

"Ms. Cowan," Will smiled slightly, still on edge.

"Hi," she smiled. "You aren't busy, are you?"

"Not at all," Will gulped, setting the papers to the side. "Come in."

"Jack told me you'd be here this morning," she said as she looked around the lecture hall. "It's a great facility."

Even though he adjusted his glasses to avoid eye contact, he caught himself peeking over them to see her. "It is nice, isn't it...uhhh, did you get settled in okay?"

"Yeah, my car's in the shop, I'm using a rental. None of the major parts were harmed, it was mostly exterior damage. I'll just need a new mirror and hood, rim...a few new parts. The hotel is nice. Not nearly enough dogs, if you ask me," she smiled.

Will laughed lightly. "I'm sure I'll be able to cover whatever damage was done to your car-"

"-Forget about it. My insurance has it all under control."

"A-are you sure?"

She replied with a warm glance directly into Will's eyes. He felt his heart race a little faster out of anxiety and...something else. "Jack said you wouldn't mind showing me around this place. If it's too much to ask, I understand."

He opened his briefcase and put the papers inside, closing it with his palms and leaning against it. He grinned, "I'd love to show you around. Let's go."

They walked past several agents in training into the Forensic Science Research and Training Center. It featured a room lined with waist-height wooden tables. The far wall reads "Safety Wall." Behind it, they could hear popping sounds. Gunfire. Recruits were practicing. "I doubt you'll be in this room very often," Will started. "It's mostly just for the students."

"What's in those metal drawers?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Probably supplies, be it equipment or...donated bodies to dissect." he said nonchalantly, but with a somewhat grim tone. "Shall we move on?" he teased, holding the door for her and walking beside her. "So how long have you been here?" she asked him as they made their way down the hall.

"About...five, six years now? It feels longer though. The gun cleaning room is on your right over there."

They stood by another door that read "Behavioral Science Unit". "This was where the terms "serial killer" and "profiling" were born and introduced to the law enforcement community," Will started. He saw Norah's eyes light up with excitement. "However..." he started, "Jack would have my ass if I let you in here without his permission."

"Oh," she started sadly, then let out a shocked expression as Will opened the door. "Real quick, come on," he said smiling, his eyes dashing around the hall to make sure no one would rat them out. She laughed, "You're insane!" and stepped quietly into the room. He cringed at the word insane, taking it far too literally. He knew she didn't mean it that way, but he sometimes felt like his mind was slipping. He inhaled deeply as he removed his rapid thoughts of insanity that seemed to spring up so quickly.

"Wow," Norah started, clutching her arms closely together and rubbing them with her hands. "It's eerie in here, how often do you come in this room?"

"Very often," Will replied, observing her bewilderment. "This is where I spend a majority of my time in this building. Yet...Jack has very strict rules about this place." She looked up at the harsh fluorescent lighting and then around the room at all the varying drawers, holding secrets she may never get to know. Her hands kept holding her arms tightly.

"Are you cold?" Will asked, removing his tan jacket and approaching her. "Oh, it's okay-" she started, but nevertheless he wrapped it around her and gently patted it closer to her to keep warm. "...Thank you," she blushed slightly, this time they both avoided eye contact.

"Yeah...you'll probably get called down here quite a bit as well," Will continued as if nothing happened. She started to slide her arms into the sleeves of the jacket. "The people in this unit sometimes struggle with...what they uh, have to see."

"Did you ever look into seeing a psychiatrist? I mean other than me...not that you're seeing me- not like that-"

"-Oh of course not, well not of course, I'd love to see you-" Will choked on his clumsy, awkward words and interjected, "Jack is setting me up with one. Of course, you'll be providing for the school and the unit as well, so we'll run into each other often."

"Good," she giggled at his apparent social anxiety. She found it oddly charming. "Well...next room?"

"Hostage Rescue training is upstairs," Will started as they walked down the hall. "I never need to go up there, I don't think you will either. They use a mock city out in the fields for training, they call it Hogan's Alley. It's complete with a bank, pharmacy, post office, hotel, pool hall, laundromat, radio station, theater, park...and the occasional terrorist or bank robber."

The elevator door opened for them as they went from the second floor down to the main one. "You'll be spending the majority of your time on the second floor, that's where all the Behavioral Science rooms are. However, you may get called down to the Lab, which is out here." They were lowered to the main floor, the lobby and registration area, with meeting rooms in the back, as well as a cafeteria and a gym. They left the main floor and stepped out into the brisk October air.

"That building, right over there-" He pointed to a large, tan building completely separate from the building they were just in. "I hope you'll never have to go there. I don't think I've ever seen something in that building that made my day," he laughed nervously, joined by her.

"I guess that's all I have to show you," he concluded, removing his glasses and wiping off the fog caused by the temperature change with the sleeve of his plaid buttoned shirt. "You must be freezing," she looked down at the jacket around her, feeling slightly guilty.

"No, no," he replied, "I've grown to love it," he smiled, squinting his eyes at the bright reflected snow. She could see their breath in the air, not opaque but an obvious steam. A phone vibrated in the jacket pocket. "I think it's yours," she said, reaching her hand through and retrieving it for him. "Thanks," he accepted the phone and read the text. It was from Jack:

Meet at your office. Your doctor is here.

"It's from Jack," he told her, shoving the phone into the pocket of his black pants. "He wants us to meet him at my office, which I think I still need to show you."

"Alright," she said, fiddling with the ends of the sleeves of his jacket, which was large on her, yet kept her warm. They made their way back inside, Will held the door with one hand and put a well-placed hand on her back, guiding her inside, almost protecting her from the cold. "Thanks," she noted, before adding, "I'm from Orlando, but I grew up in Maine. I used to be adjusted to the cold."

"From Maine to Orlando, wow. What sprung that on?"

"College, then a work opportunity, with the advantage of detaching from family." The last part was strung on quickly. "I found a better job out here though, yet I'm sure I'll have to travel a bit. My hours may get crazy, who knows. I'm looking forward to it."

"You're more lenient to spontaneity?"

The elevator door closed in front of them. "One could say that," she looked Will in the eyes, locking contact, and stepping closer. He heard his breath tremble slightly, and she raised her eyebrows in an almost teasing fashion. The door opened in front of them, yet she lingered, a smile spreading on her face as she walked in front of him. He stood, sighed deeply, the chased after her just as the door started to close again.

"I'm assuming your office is this way?" she questioned, confidently.

"Y-yes," he started, then calming his nerves. "Jack said my uhhh...psychiatrist would be with him. Let's hope he's reputable."

"If not, my door is always open, Will," she smiled at him as he approached his opened office door.

Jack and Hannibal turned almost in sync to face their new company. "Aah, hello Will. Hello Ms. Cowan." Jack started before observing that she was wearing his jacket. He shot Will a curious expression. Will shrugged, smirking.

"This is Dr. Lecter."

"Hello, Dr. Lecter," Will addressed the man.

"Please, call me Hannibal," he started, "It's a pleasure meeting you Will. And you must be the esteemed Ms. Cowan. Do tell me, how are you adjusting to your new career?"

Slightly taken off guard by his knowledge and confident presence, she replied, "Fine, thank you. Will here was just giving me a tour of the facility, and I have to say, I am impressed."

"With the facility, or Mr. Graham?" Jack cackled.

"Both," she laughed back. Will shuffled his feet, looking down to hide his grin.

"If you could excuse us for...fifteen minutes," Hannibal interjected in a good-humoured tone, "There are a few things I need to share with Will."

When Will and Hannibal scheduled regular appointments and exchanged contracts of confidentiality and privileges, Hannibal left, leaving his business card amongst other means of contact. Will shook his hand by the door, where Jack and Norah were engaged in an apparently exciting conversation about current cases. "Will, how was it?" Jack asked.

"Successful. I think he'll offer me some stability. Not that I'm unstable-"

"Of course not," Jack stood from the chair outside the office. "Ms. Cowan. Feel free to settle into your office tonight. And I'll see you tomorrow morning-"

"-At six, of course," she replied, also standing to shake his hand. "Thank you, sir." Jack winked at Will before adding, "Get some good rest, Will. We need you."

Will went back downstairs with Norah and out to the parking lot. "If you're heading out-" she started, while taking off his jacket. "You may want this back."

"Oh, yes, thank you," he started, accepting it back. Staring at it wrapped over his arm, he moved up his glasses before asking, "Are you...do you...I mean, if that hotel isn't working out, my place is always open."

She laughed, nodding in appreciation. "I'm moving into my apartment in a few days. That's when they say my boxes will arrive...I may need help though."

"Of course! Well, I'd be glad to help with, you know, whatever you need."

"Great. I'll...make dinner?"

"That sounds perfect."

"Okay...then, it's a date," she smiled before adding, "Thanks for the tour, Will," and walked off. Will stood, smiled, laughed to himself for a moment before adjusting his glasses and entering his car, creating a concoction of frightening and pleasant thoughts before driving home.

**AWWWW SHIT. Okay, tell me what you think. Love you guys. Reviews/Follows/Favorites go a loooooong way, so if you like the story, please show it! :D It helps more than you would believe.**


	3. III: Two Meals and a Death

**Hey everyone, here's Chapter Three. Shit's gonna go down. Keep your eyes...OPEN. I love ya.**

Two days had passed, and Will felt like he may finally be getting somewhere with the murdered girl case. The nightmares were catching up to him though, becoming more vivid each night. He looked pale, his eyes heavy and dark. His hours of rest were limited, as he much preferred solving the case to seeing the image of the girl's bloodied, battered body laying next to him every night.

He held flowers in his hand as he knocked the door of the apartment Norah gave him the address to. Waiting nervously out in the hall, he looked down at the flowers and wondered if they were too much, if he should throw them away. Before he could act, she answered the door, wearing a large hoodie and tiny shorts. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, her baggy sleeves were rolled up, and she wasn't wearing shoes. "Hey!" she beamed, widening the door for him to enter. "Sorry, I'm kind of a mess, much like this place-"

"Don't be silly, you look great," he told her nervously, still holding the flowers, hopefully out of eyeshot. He failed.

"Are those flowers?" she asked, looking down at the bouquet he held by his hips.

"Oh...yeah," he handed them to her, "Sorry if they're a bit much."

"Are you kidding? I've been lookin' for some life in this place, these look lovely. Thank you!" she searched the piles of boxes around her apartment, determining where to put them. "I'll, uh...move these over to the counter until I can find a vase." In the kitchen, he heard, "So you have a day off today, I take it?"

"Yeah, well...no, I was up early this morning working on a case."

"Getting anywhere?"

He looked around, "Yeah...I think so." She came back into the living room before saying, "I've heard about your uhm...empathetic? Yeah, empathetic abilities, and your imagination. It's remarkable."

He nodded humbly before she added, "But I'm sure it becomes quite the tortuous burden after a while." His eyes widened. No one had ever seemed to recognize the pain he dealt with, and he soon found himself sweeping it under the rug as well. "Yes...yes it does." She observed his reaction and figured she triggered something she would deal with gradually. "Uhm, I just figured we could start shelving the movies and books, I have all the furniture where I want it-" she walked towards a large stack of boxes and said, "I think we can start here."

He walked towards her as they plunged into the boxes of books and movies. "Any specific order?" he asked, monotone.

"Not really, just keep the movies and books separate."

"Right. Got it." Placing them on the shelves, he couldn't help ut notice they really did have similar taste. She broke the silence. "So about your, uh, empathy. Do you have any sort of filter on that? Does it ever, fog your judgement?"

"I try not to let it," he held a large amount of heavy books in his arm, placing them neatly into the shelves. "It can be difficult, because...because, you feel what someone else feels. And you can be aware of it, but somewhere in you..."

"-It sinks in?" she asked, grabbing more from the box.

"Exactly," he started for more too, coming in contact with her hand as they both reached in. "Sorry-" they said at the same time, her good heartedly, him nervously.

"And your talent for determining the actions that took place in a crime. Is that just deduction or is it a vision or..."

He crouched down, placing larger books on the bottom shelf. "I guess you could call them visions," he started, "I see myself as the killer though."

She stopped moving. "You see yourself as the killer?"

He looked up from where he was, "Yeah...why, is that...is something wrong?"

"Well, I'm sure seeing yourself performing these violent acts has to affect you somehow! Does Jack know?"

"I don't think he'd care," he told her, rising up and grabbing more books.

"I'm worried about you, Will. You have this incredible ability. Don't get taken advantage of."

"I won't."

"I'm serious!" she said, this time placing movies on the highest shelf. "If you feel like your mental health is at stake, you need to take a break or let him know."

"That's sort of the point of my therapist, isn't it?" he asked her, slightly more bitter than he intended.

She was quiet, still working. He wanted to say sorry, but she started, "Are you having nightmares? Hallucinations? Dark thoughts at all?"

He pressed his lips together, trying to summon the right words to tell her. He wanted to be honest, but he didn't want to drive her off. "I'm stable, let's just leave it at that," he chuckled nervously.

"Well, okay." She stopped to give him a brief smile and a flash of her comforting eyes before they continued unboxing and placing things about the house.

It was about 6:30 when they finally finished. Empty cardboard boxes were the only reminder of the fact she had just moved in. He sat at the bar stool by the counter that split the living room and kitchen. The flowers he had given her were placed above the sink on a windowsill. She had cracked open a beer for both of them, she sipped at hers while she cooked, her back to him.

He found himself staring at her, the way her hair shined in the light, soft and thick, the way her sleeves were rolled up, contrasting her thin arms completely, and even caught his eyes lingering around her tight-fitting booty shorts. Trying to be a gentlemen, he looked away towards a painting she had hung on the wall. "That's an interesting painting," he told her, causing her to turn her head.

"Oh, the windmill one? I think so too...even though I mainly bought it for the backstory."

"Do tell," Will teased, holding his head in his hands, ready to listen.

"Well, the artist was named McAllister. His lover, Marion, being as spoiled as she was, left him, thinking he could never be a good provider, and she went back to her ex husband...But when her ex found out about her being pregnant with McAllister's baby, he strangled her."

"Heh. Ironic."

"Right? Worst part is, the ex got everyone to believe McAllister did it. So he then lived his life in hiding from the police, he moved back to Ireland, where he lived in a windmill, using whatever money he had to paint. Until one day, as he worked in the boat yard, one of Marion's husband's men had tracked him down and smashed his hands. When that happened, McAllister tried to continue to paint, but when his hands never healed, he threw himself off of the cliff he was born on."

Will let the story sink in, still staring at the painting. "How...

"Ironic again?"

"I was going to say tragic. But it certainly is ironic." He took a sip of the beer, and looking at the painting he automatically began to sense the creator's pain. He made himself look away and shake off whatever reminiscing haunt he felt.

"I hope you like spaghetti, because other than microwaved or frozen food it's about all I can cook." She moved from the stove to the sink, draining the pasta.

"That sounds great, I can't remember the last time someone made me a meal."

"Well, don't expect it to be five-star," she joked. She moved to the fridge and grabbed the bottled sauce and parmesan shake cheese. "We use only the _finest_ ingredients here," she added sarcastically. Will chuckled. "Seriously, you may not think what you're making is much but it is to me."

"Well aren't you sweet," she said, putting the final touches of their dinner together before bringing it over in cheap bowls. "Here," she handed him the bowl and he took it gratefully. She took a long swig of beer before pushing her own bowl next to him, making her way around the counter and sitting down, her bare legs turned towards his and touching his. She didn't seem to feel uncomfortable as she started eating right away.

"This is so good," Will complimented her mid-bite. She laughed. "You don't get out much, do you?"

"I'm a bit...antisocial. You know, I lean towards some social disorders."

She talked with her mouth full but covered it with her delicate hands. "Who'da thought?"

Will smiled, "What do you mean?"

"Well," she sipped her beer, "Isn't it always the most gifted ones who have the hardest time interacting with others?"

He let her semi-compliment sink in before responding, "I guess so."

"You weren't all that awkward with me," she said before taking another bite.

"Well," Will laughed, drinking again and taking another bite before finishing. "You're different from the others."

She stopped eating for a moment and looked up at Will, almost stunned. She grinned bashfully. "What makes you say that?"

Will froze at the eye contact before looking down into his bowl, stirring the spaghetti with his fork while stuttering to find the right words to say. "Well...uh...I guess...I don't know...I just...sense something different from you."

"Like what?" Another sip of beer, more spaghetti. She acted as if it was no big deal, like she's accept whatever he'd have to say. It comforted him a little.

He cleared his throat before answering. "You listen. Not for any kind of advantage other than the fact that you care." He took a bite and breathed heavily as he chewed, then continued, "You're passionate. Passionate people are hard to find. I like the way your eyes lit up when I showed you around the Academy, how excited you were to tackle your next case, how much you love life and take every moment that hits you by surprise and make it enjoyable." He sipped more beer, she had set her bowl down and held her beer with both hands between her thighs, listening intently. He avoided eye contact so he wouldn't find any distraction from what he had to say. "I mean, I caused you to crash your car. You had to spend the night at my house. You just take every challenge in stride and turn it into something memorable. You aren't afraid to live I guess. And I...I like that about you. And you're smart, and fun, a-and friendly, and _warm..._and of course extremely attractive-" he cut himself off by finishing his beer, closing his eyes, taking a long gulp, mentally beating himself up for saying anything so incredibly cheesy.

"Well fuck!" he heard. He opened his eyes only to lock a gaze with her, her smile radiant and her eyes showed she was genuinely flattered and caught by surprise. She laughed. "Jesus, uhm...thank you, Will."

"No need to thank me, I'm only honest."

She found her cheeks becoming warm and flushed, her eyes feeling like they were going to produce tears, but they never did. "No really...no one has ever said anything like that to me before."

"Well they should," Will told her, finishing up whatever food was left in his bowl. He was trying to silence himself from any further embarrassment.

There was a warm silence in the house, unlike one either of them had felt before. "Well, you're not so bad yourself. Can I take your bowl?"

"Oh, yeah...sure, thanks," he handed it to her before running his hands through his hair and standing up, taking his bottle over to the trashcan and throwing it away.

She rinsed off their dishes and forks and bent over to load them in the dishwasher. Will caught himself looking again, yet darted his eyes the other way when she stood back up to turn to him. "You can stay, if you like. Thanks to you, my DVD player is hooked up to the TV...if you wanna watch a movie or something?"

"S-sure...why not."

It was about halfway through Pulp Fiction, one of their mutual favorites, when Will realized he couldn't stay any longer. They were sharing a bowl of popcorn, his back against the cushions and feet propped up on the coffee table, and she sat perpendicular to him, her legs overlapping his. He checked his watch and moaned, not wanting to leave.

"Whats wrong?" she asked, mid-laugh at Quentin Tarantino's cameo, the line "I don't need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is" delivered to perfection in the background. "I have to go. My dogs need to be fed and I have a breakfast appointment with Dr. Lecter early tomorrow morning." He leaned his head back into the cushions out of disappointment as he felt her smooth legs slide out from under his hands. _Had I been holding her legs?_ he wondered to himself as he watch her stand up and stretch. "Okay," she sighed, sounding disappointed as well.

"I had, a _fantastic_ time though," he assured her as they made their way to the door. "Yeah, no, thanks for helping me out today!" she replied.

"Of course. Thanks for dinner...and the movie," he smiled.

She opened the door for him but he lingered, not sure if he should kiss her or not. As badly as he wanted to, he sensed from her that he was just a friend, and walked off with a "Goodnight, Norah."

"See ya tomorrow, Will."

He heard the door close behind him and a smile spread on his face as he waited for the elevator door. She was the only thing helping him find happiness in these dark times, and he liked her being the light in his darkness, whether she knew it or not. He dreamed of her that night, until he saw bloody antlers and dismembered body parts, his mind slowly slipping into another nightmare.

Will wrapped himself in his robe as he shuffled to the door, wiping the fresh sleep out of his eyes. He opened the door to reveal Hannibal Lecter standing outside, holding two cups, a thermos, and a small thermal food storage bag.

"Good morning, Will. May I come in?"

Will stared at him before asking, "Where's Crawford?"

"Deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today...may I come in?"

Soon after his arrival, a beautifully presented breakfast for two served on tupperware containers and plastic settings was spread on the kitchen table. Freshly brewed coffee was poured into the two cups Hannibal carried, and when he set them down, he began to peel the lids off of the tupperware. "I'm very careful about what I put into my body. Which means I end up preparing most meals myself. A little protein scramble to start the day; some eggs, some sausage." Hannibal watched as Will took a bite of his breakfast scramble.

"It's delicious. Thank you."

"My pleasure," he replied, generally amused yet hiding it successfully. He continued, "I would apologize for my analytical ambush but I know I will soon be apologizing and you'll tire of that again so I have to consider using apologies sparingly."

"Just keep it professional."

"Or...we could socialize like adults, god forbid we become friendly."

Will sipped his coffee before answering, "I don't find you that interesting."

Hannibal thought it over before saying, "You will." After a somewhat complex silence lingered in the air, Hannibal changed the subject. "Agent Crawford tells me you have a knack for the monsters."

"That's a superstition."

"I talked to your good friend, Ms. Cowan, about you. She wouldn't gossip, not a word. She's very protective of you, smitten, I would say. She asked me to keep an eye on you."

Will studied Hannibal, then decided to keep the conversation strictly business. "I don't think the Shrike killed that girl in the field."

"The devil is in the details. What didn't your Copy Cat do to the girl in the field? What gave it away?"

Will cringed. "Everything. It's like he had to show me a negative so I could see the positive. That crime scene was practically gift-wrapped."

"The mathematics of human behavior. All those ugly variables. Some bad math with this Shrike fellow. Are you reconstructing his fantasies? What kind of problems does he have?"

"He has a few."

Almost with a wink, Hannibal replied, "Ever have any problems, Will?"

"No."

"Of course you don't. You and I are just alike," Hannibal said, pouring more coffee for both of them. "Problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about...I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little tea-cup, the finest china used for only special guests."

"How do you see me?" Will asked bitterly, yet curious to hear his answer.

"The mongoose I want under the house when snakes slither by," Hannibal replied. Will felt slightly touched yet decided to hide it. "Finish your breakfast," Hannibal urged.

Hannibal accompanied Will on the way to the camper trailer office that day to investigate the current case.

"Did Mr. Hobbs have a daughter?" Will inquired to Dixie, the secretary.

"Might have," she replied.

"Eighteen or nineteen, wind-chaffed? Plain but pretty? She would have auburn hair. About...this tall," he gestured with his hand around his shoulder.

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't keep company with these people."

Hannibal mumbled by Will, "What is it about Garret Jacob Hobbs you find so peculiar?"

"Left a phone number. No address."

"Therefore he has something to hide?"

Will shrugged, not putting too much weight on the matter. "Everyone else left an address," he told Hannibal. Then, he talked to Dixie again. "You have an address for Mr. Hobbs?"

Will, Hannibal, and Dixie then hauled file boxes from the make-shift office building to the trunk of their car. Hannibal allowed himself to knock a box out of the trunk, scattering papers. Will and Dixie stooped over to pick them up. "I got it," Will assured her. As they picked up the pages, Hannibal returned inside the trailer office. When answered, Hannibal spoke clearly, "Mr. Garret Jacob Hobbs?"... "You don't know me and I suspect we'll never meet. This is a courtesy call. Listen very carefully. Are you listening?"..."They know." He then hung up and joined Will outside.

When they arrived at the Hobbs household, Will popped an Aspirin behind the wheel. Lecter unbuckled his seatbelt on the passenger side, watching Will think for a moment before stepping out. Hannibal smiled, a hint of excitement coursing through him. Will walked purposefully to the front door, trying his best not to look uncomfortable. Hannibal intentionally lagged behind. Halfway to the door, it suddenly burst open. Bleeding and wheezing, Louise Hobbs was shoved down the porch steps in a heap, the door slamming shut behind her. Shocked, Will rushed to her. Her alabaster skin had a sharp contrast to the crimson pouring out of it. Multiple wounds punctured her torso and arms as she grasped haltingly for Will, streaking him with her blood. Her cold hand clutched his wrist as her body went into a spasm, but Will knew she was already gone. He pried her slick, red fingers from his wrist, trying not to see the last flickers of pain and fear exciting her face.

Will stood up and smashed into the door with everything he had. It was hard to say whether the sickening crack was from his shoulder or the wooden frame. He gave it a well-placed kick, and another, splintering it little-by-little until he stumbled inside. Hannibal strolled casually up the walk, barely glancing at the lifeless body of Louise Hobbs, stepping deliberately over it, then pausing in the broken doorway, listening closely.

The wide-eyed contrast of Dr. Lecter, Will Graham worked his way from room to room, gun first. Adrenaline allowed him to ignore the splatters of blood defacing the walls and floors. "Garret Jacob Hobbs?" Will stammered, "F.B.I." He walked into the kitchen to find Garret behind his daughter, Abigail, slashing at her throat. The frightened girl had her weight against his, chin tucked down, gasping for air. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the sound began to yield to the ambient noise of Will's circulatory system. He raised his pistol, shooting three times, firing into Hobbs' exposed upper chest, one after another. Hobbs, however, didn't go down. He kept slashing, and Will kept shooting. Two more shots. With one last deep cut, Hobbs finally fell.

Hannibal stepped into the kitchen, his inscrutable expression suddenly registering genuine pity and regret as he sees Abigail Hobbs. "No...no no no..." Will muttered over and over, obviously scarred and terrified. Her struggle to breathe was underscored by the wheeze of air through her slashed wind pipe. "No, no no no no," Will repeated under his breath as he bent down to apply pressure to the wounds, scooping Abigail onto his lap. He looked up to see Garret Jacob Hobbs, hissing at Will through his dying, jagged breath, "See? See?"

"No, no no no..." Will repeated the mantra, shaking in panic and trauma. His eyes glazed as he felt himself shutting down. Behind him, Hannibal moved swiftly to Abigail, addressing her wounds as she stared at her dying father, even as her own life ebbed. Will gently raised her glassy eyes to his own as Hannibal worked, and he didn't look away.

Soon, he found himself leaning against his car, staring at the crime scene circus. He watched as paramedics hauled Abigail into the back of their ambulance. Hannibal continued to hold her hand, crawling in beside her as a paramedic pulled the door shut. An FBI car pulled up to the house, and out stepped Jack and Norah. Jack was instantly greeted by several investigators, filling him in and guiding him into the home. Norah looked around, her eyes dashing rapidly as she observed the scene. Will watched her as she took everything in, following Jack halfway before another investigator took her to the side by the arm and pointed over to Will. Immediately, her eyes locked with his and he looked away quickly. He soon heard her running over to him. "Will!" she hollered. He raised his head and walked over to her, slightly shaken. "Will, oh my god," she threw herself forcefully against him into a warm embrace. "Are you okay?"

She rested her head on his shoulder, placing one hand behind his head and the other around his neck, standing on the tips of her toes. He didn't know what to make of it at first, being confused about their relationship and in shock of the events that took place, so he froze for a moment before slowly wrapping his arms around her, one on her waist, the other placed palm-flat on her lower back, bringer her tighter against him and lowering his head, still slightly stained by blood splatter. He didn't say a word as he felt his eyes fog over with warm tears.

"Are you okay?" she spoke softly to him, lightly scratching his hair and the nape of his neck before pulling slightly back to meet him face to face, still letting him hold her. "Talk to me, what do you need from me, what is it?"

She watched as he looked up to the sky in an attempt to hide his tears. His voice cracked as he finally spoke, "I don't know." She sighed sadly before saying "It's okay," and allowing him to lower himself to her and hold her tightly. She could hear him lightly sniffling behind her and felt him shaking as she whispered to him and tried to calm him down.

**SO MUCH ANGST. So much of it. Alright. Lemme knowwww what you think. Follows/reviews/favorites mean the world to me. You could make my day with the click of a button, believe it or not. I love you!**


	4. IV: The Conflict of the Just

**Just so you know, your support really got me through today. I tried out for Sweeney Todd, got cast as Johanna, and then I had to drop out THAT DAY because my sister is getting married and I'll be out of town on all the performance dates. So needless to say, I was really sad. But your support and encouragement of my story really helped cheer me up, so I sincerely thank you! Enjoy the chapter my lovelies!**

The black raven-elk was staring into his eyes. No, not his eyes, his soul. He couldn't seem to break away, as if the wild animal was trying to tell him a secret. Was trying to give him...some sort of a sign. _But what? What do you want? _Will wondered, as the elk was slowly pulled back from him, his eyes turning to sheer darkness that then faded to the attic where he had found the first dead girl, then the field with the second mounted on antlers, face up. He tried to run away, he tried with everything he had, but as he turned around, Garret was already in front of him, sawing into Abigail's neck. His dead, glazed over, pale blue eyes taunted Will as a sickening smile spread across his dark, drained face. "SEE? SEE?" Garret yelled over and over in a psychotic tone. Will could only watch as Abigail wheezed, coughed, literally grabbing the air in front of her, reaching out to Will, begging for help. Yet...he felt power. He felt anger, he felt rage. Of course he was scared, of course he felt sorrow, grief, pity. But for some reason...he didn't help her. He instead moved closer, winking at Garret yet somehow scared, then crouched down to Abigail and whispered in her ear, "I want to watch you bleed, you bitch."

Will awoke with a rapid heart, breathing rapidly, grabbing the sheets below him for some sort of reality. He looked at his alarm clock. It was 3:47 in the morning. He propped himself up on his elbows, then his palms, feeling the air conditioning and cold autumn air chill his back and the nape of his neck. Looking down at his bed, he saw it that sweat had soaked into where he had fallen asleep. Will slid over to the edge of the bed, placing his feet firmly on the floor. Slowly, he slid the sweat-stained t-shirt over his head and onto the floor, then stood up to wipe himself off with a towel. He would shower in the morning. In the meantime, he grabbed a different towel from out of the cabinet in his bathroom, walking back to his bed and laying it down on the sheet below, taking the other end and wrapping it around him to provide some sense of security and warmth.

He didn't sleep for long. When he woke up again, it was 4:02. He stretched and rubbed his hand across his face before shuddering at the sudden cold his home provided. Brushing his teeth, rinsing, and flossing, he turned the water in his shower up to the highest possible temperature and slipped out of his dark grey boxers. In the shower, he heard echoes of Abigail and Mrs. Hobbs' screams and wheezes as he washed his hair, felt the drops of water raining down on him as if it were warm, freshly drawn blood. When he closed his eyes, he saw himself killing Garret Jacob Hobbs over, and over...and over. When he opened his eyes, it wasn't any better. The steam of the shower brought him to a foggy, misty forest. He stood deep in thought, barely noticing the stag walking through the fog only twenty feet away. He turned the water off and felt the need to collapse, but never did.

The photographer behind him blinded him with the flash of a camera as Will stared down at the body before him. Turning to the photographer to shoot an angry glare, the curly, red-headed woman quickly apologized and turned off her flash. Not recognizing her face, he assumed she was new and turned back to the crime scene at his feet. He couldn't tell the gender, he couldn't tell the age, all that was apparent was the decaying body laying in the undergrowth before him, various mushrooms sprouting from its torso. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and focusing on the pendulum swinging before him.

"I do not bind his arms or legs as I bury him, in a shallow grave." He patted soil over the body with a shovel before crouching down to the head of the body. The ventilator was pumping. "He's alive...but he'll never be conscious again." He inserted a needle into the corpse's hand that stuck out of the soil as he stood again, brushing the dirt from his pants. "He won't know that he's dying. I don't need him to." Staring down at the ground and heaps of soil before him, his eyes darkened. He stated, his low voice contrasting to the silky silence of the forest air, "This is my design."

Coming back to reality, Will recited a shaky report, "It's a garden, if you will, fertilized by human bodies. Nine victims so far-" he walked down the line of the bodies as he continued, "Each kept alive for a short time in a diabetic, comatose state with a rudimentary life-support system that pumped them full of sugar water, which mushrooms seem to like. Perhaps he chose fungi because the structural clusters resemble the brain. They're organisms that, by their very nature, connect, and it's that kind of connection the killer feels is missing from humanity." He turned to the investigators, who were slightly disturbed but listening intently. "You're looking for some sort of medical worker...one with easy access to insulin. One who may work with little to no others around. Perhaps a pharmacist." He watched as the investigators slowly mingled in eye contact and nodded their heads. Jack commanded them all to perform background checks and investigations on the local pharmacies and their employers. Will, however, just let the noise of their conversation fade in his mind as he stared down at the bodies below him, lives taken and tormented for reasons he would never understand the logic of...yet _could only_ understand the logic of.

Which is exactly what he told Dr. Lecter as he walked above him on the balcony surrounding the bookshelves in his place of residence. Hannibal sat below, listening intently. "What did you see out there, in the field?" he asked.

"Hobbs," Will spoke his name in a quivering tone.

"An association? A hallucination?"

"I saw him lying there in someone else's grave."

"Did you tell Jack what you saw?"

"No...it's stress," Will tried to assure himself, "Not worth reporting."

"You displaced the victim of another killer's crime with what could arguably be considered your victim."

"Ha," Will let a nervous chuckle slip from his lips, "I don't consider Hobbs to be my victim."

"What do you consider him to be?" Hannibal asked.

"Dead."

"Is it harder imagining the thrill somebody else feels killing, now that you've done it yourself?"

Will let the question tumble through his mind before deciding against addressing it. "The arms," he replied instead.

"Why did he leave them exposed?" Hannibal asked, "To hold their hands? To feel the life leaving their bodies?" Hannibal's questions made Will feel sick to his stomach, yet he sensed they were helpful somehow. They had to have some sort of purpose...right?

"No, that's too esoteric for someone who took the time to bury his victims in a straight line...he's more practical."

"He was cultivating them."

"He was keeping them alive! He was feeding them intravenously."

"But your farmer let his crops die."

"Safe for that one that didn't."

"Well, and the one that didn't die on the way to the hospital, though they weren't crops; they were the fertilizer."

Will didn't want to respond. He felt drowsy, tormented by thoughts he had tried to repress, only worsened by what had happened what felt like minutes ago: killing Garret Jacob Hobbs. He officially had blood on his hands, and there was no way of redeeming it. Perhaps the killing _was_ just, but it didn't change how he felt about taking a life.

"What do you see behind closed eyes, Will?"

"...I see myself," Will lied. Perhaps it was more of a half-lie, as his empathy seemed to meld him and Hobbs together.

"It wasn't the act of killing Hobbs that got you down, was it? Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?"

Will paused, feeling even more queasy...no, disturbed. "I liked killing Hobbs," he confessed.

"Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time. And are we not created in his image?" Hannibal asked.

"That depends who you ask..."

"God's terrific. He dropped a church roof on 34 of his worshipers last Wednesday night in Texas, while they sang a hymn."

"And did God feel good about that?"

Hannibal nodded and said, "He felt powerful." His words hit Will with a grim wave of understanding, confirming his darker thoughts to be the more honest side of reality.

The next afternoon, Graham and the unit had found their guy. Searching through medical records was a tedious task, but they narrowed down the main insulin provider out of the local pharmacies and were prepared to question him. "Everyone please stop what you are doing; put your hands in the air! Special Agent Jack Crawford." Jack had his gun out as two other officers, as well as Will, followed him in. "Which one of you is Eldon Stammets?"

"Eldon was just here..." another pharmacist answered curiously and with an oddly composed worry. "He was here, just now..."

"Is his car still in the parking lot?" No answer. Jack became frustrated. "HIS CAR!" They nodded and described the car in a quick slur of words. The four of them dashed outside and located the car, opening the trunk immediately. A girl on a ventilator was tangled in the back. After a quick check, Will announced, "She's alive!"

"EMTS! NOW!" Jack yelled.

An employee rushed out to Jack and rambled quickly, "We know his name, we have his address, we have his car."

"Thank you, we just need-"

"We just checked the browser history at Stammets' work station," the employee continued.

"Am I gonna wanna hear this?" Jack groaned.

The pharmacist shook his head. "No...and yes, but mostly...no."

Jack read the screen aloud to the other investigators and policemen. " Tattle Crime dot com..."The FBI isn't just hunting psychopaths, they're headhunting them too, offering competitive pay and benefits in the hopes of using one demented mind" Keep going," he told Katz as she continued to scroll down.

"It's about Will," she commented.

"Go on."

""One demented mind to catch" She goes into a lot of detail here," she sighed.

"Son of a bitch," Jack grumbled.

"You are naughty, Miss Lounds."

Later that night, Agent Crawford knocked on the door inside of a rather elegant apartment complex. "Who is it?" he heard on the other side, a sugary-sweet voice hollering to him, then answering the door. Her expression didn't seem to change much. "Ah!"

Agent Zeller spoke into his walkie-talkie, "All clear."

"I appreciate the pageantry, Agent Crawford, but you can't arrest me for writing an article," she cooed at Agent Crawford.

"You entered a federal crime scene without permission!" He raised his tone with her.

"Escorted by a detective."

"Under false pretense!"

"It's as good as permission."

"You _lied_ to a police officer-"

"-You can't arrest me for lying."

Jack paused. "You got all that information from a local detective?"

"Lots of talk about your man Graham," she smirked at him while twirling a strand of hair around her finger before adding, "Not to mention the rivalry of who gets the collar."

"You know the unfortunate timing of your article allowed a murderer to escape. You were in Minnesota. Wanna know how I know? Because you left one of these hairs behind," he pulled out a ziplock bag with a strand of her hair in it, and her face morphed into fright.

"You contaminated the crime scene," he told her, "Just like everywhere you GO, you contaminate crime scenes, that's obstructing justice." She blinked fearfully as he went on, "I can indict you for obstructing justice."

She gulped and said, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't."

Leaning in he muttered to her, "You don't write another word about Will Graham, and I won't have to."

That night, Will decided to feed his dogs early and drive all the way over to the hospital to spend the night there. His dogs would be safe and sound inside the house, and Will couldn't handle the haunting presence of the repetitive environment he had grown to struggle sleeping in; and the guilt about Abigail's well being, the images of her he stored in his mind, he couldn't shake off. Asking the receptionist where Abigail's room was and informing her of his credentials as a federal employee, she pointed him in the right direction and told him the room number. He entered the room and felt a stir of emotions punch him in the stomach when he saw her. She was laying in a comatose state on the hospital bed, neck bandaged. He fell asleep on the couch the hospital provided as he watched her.

He awoke to the sound of Norah asking a nurse...something? He couldn't understand. His eyes were only becoming accustomed to his environment as his hearing started to register from his deep sleep, for once in a long time. He started to make out, "Thank you," from Norah and saw what appeared to be a reassuring touch on the arm from the nurse, who left the room after. He watched as Norah tucked a strand of hair behind Abigail's ear in a gentle, comforting, yet almost pitiful way. She was like a young girl, caring for her favorite china doll she had dropped on the sidewalk. He felt her care and concern all the way from across the room, her genuine curiosity and passion streaking through it all. A part of him felt like he could finally rest, like he could finally have a night to sleep now that she was with him. But another part of him didn't want to spend a moment wasted with her, for sleeping would only take the time he could have spent with her away from him.

He decided to speak up. "What are you doing here?" he managed to slur, his voice slightly breaking in and out as he had just woken up. She didn't jump, she wasn't startled by his voice, but she didn't turn to him either. "I was hoping she was awake," she started. "I wanted to get to her before anyone else." She turned to Will. "I've been assigned as her psychiatrist."

Will flashed a half-smile at her then shut his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry to wake you, Will. I'll leave if you want-" she started out the door but Will grabbed her wrist firmly, yet with a tender touch. "No-" he moaned, staring at his hand on her wrist rather than her eyes. He felt her eyes on him though. "Stay...please." He hated the sound of his voice when he was tired. It seemed to drag on at a low monotone, occasionally accentuated by slightly higher tones. However, she smiled sweetly and agreed to stay. He sat up to make room for her on the couch.

She slid beside him and pulled the blanket the hospital had apparently provided him over herself as well, sharing with him. She added a certain coolness under the thick cotton. "A-are you cold?" he asked her, wanting to scoot closer but instead, providing her more blanket.

"Oh, I'm fine. I was just outside."

"Aah."

Silence. "I'm...sorry I disturbed your sleep, I'm sure you aren't getting nearly enough these days."

"I got a solid-" he checked his watch- "four and a half hours. That's more than I usually get without slipping into some sort of strange nigh..." he stopped talking and sighed heavily, staring ahead at the heart monitor.

"How are you, Will?" she asked him. He hated the way she sounded; the way she asked as if he was a patient.

"Me? Oh, I'm fine..." he yawned before forcing a smile as his eyes darted from her back to the monitor.

"...You can't possibly feel guilty for saving this girl's live, you know that...right?"

"I killed her father in front of her-"

"Did you have any other choice? _He_ would have killed_ her_, Will!"

He let her words sink in, the only comfort he was able to indulge in at this point in his life. He wanted to tell her all the little things he felt, no matter how significant. He felt as if he didn't tell her everything, she would never know. He turned to her, locking eyes, yet couldn't summon the words.

She spoke for him, "You're very brave, Will. Don't forget that, okay? You did the right thing."

Feeling all the killing inside of him, then hearing everyone tell him how righteous it was wasn't helping him keep his priorities up to moral code. He felt a splitting headache. "Do you have any Aspirin?" he asked her, clenching his eyelids shut.

"Oh, I think so," she looked through her purse she placed beside her on the couch. "I think it's illegal to administer unauthorized meds in here, so I won't tell if you won't." She winked at him and handed him the pills. He smiled. "I feel like I'm in high school again," he said, swallowing the two down dry, "takin' drugs in the back and hoping the teachers didn't see." They laughed.

"So you were _that_ kid, huh?" she smiled.

"What? No. I was kidding."

"Oh," her chuckle died down slightly.

Silence filled the hospital room again as the slight _beep_ of Abigail's heart monitor chimed in the background from time to time.

"The new job," Will began, she turned her head to him to show she was listening. "It hasn't scared you off yet?"

Norah laughed, "No...in a sick, completely wrong way, I find it exciting. However, I think getting to help anyone and working with the people I get to work with is an extremely...gratifying experience."

"That's great," he chuckled before almost purring, "I haven't scared you off yet?"

She smiled, a non-committal laugh flying from her ever so subtly. "No. Not at all. In fact, you've done quite the opposite."

"And what would that be?" Will asked in a monotone, swallowing down some doubts that drifted through his mind.

"You bewilder me."

He beamed at her, a wider smile than he intended to display sailing across his face, accentuating his rugged jawline. Under the sheets, he moved his hand against hers, the backs of them touching, before crossing his hardened, warm hands against her delicate ones, interlacing his slightly callused fingers with her skilled and slender ones. He held tighter, stroking her hand with his thumb, and she tightened her grip as well. They smiled warmly at each other before they both turned to watch Abigail.

He woke up with her head on his shoulder, and realizing this, he smiled again, careful not to move before drifting off to sleep once again. As he closed his eyes, he realized it had been the first night in a seemingly endless period where he had gone without a nightmare. Instead, he had dreamed of walking around the town with Norah, holding each other. They bought balloons, they let them go.

**Let's see who can spot the American Psycho reference I threw in here! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think! You're golden!**

**NOTE *OH MY GOD I HAD TO DO SO MUCH EDITING OF THIS CHAPTER REMIND ME TO NEVER WRITE AT 3 IN THE MORNING AGAIN OH MY GOD* but don't worry it's all updated now.**


	5. V: Of Angels and Anchors

**OKAY PEOPLE CHAPTER FIVE IT'S ABOUT TO GET TOO SPICY FOR THE PEPPER. Also, HUUUUGE shoutout to twohearts1tardis, that's her tumblr username and she pretty much saved my skin here and gave me some amazing advice. Thanks gurl! :D**

**I only own Norah Cowan**

"You lost? Uh, what? What's your name?" The police officer shined a light in Will's eyes. Will pulled his head back and squinted, trying to adjust to the harsh contrast of the light in the cold night air. Where was he? How did he get to this road? What did these police officers want?

"Will Graham" he groaned.

"Do you know where you are, Mr. Graham?"

"No," Will felt his heart slowly shift into an exhausting panic.

"Where do you live?"

"Wolf Trap, Virginia."

"We're in Wolf Trap, so that's good," the police officer approached Will, then pointing behind him at the road. "Is that yours?"

Will turned and saw his newest dog, Winston, wagging his tail behind him. "Aw, hi Winston!" Will felt a bit more at ease now that his faithful companion was here for him. "Hey, uh, can I sit down? My feet are sore," Will sighed, now realizing that he had been sleepwalking in the middle of the highway. He could only imagine how late it was.

When he sat in the police car, the man asked, "Why don't we take you home? Are you on any drugs? Medication? Prescription or otherwise?"

"No," Will yawned, thinking he probably should be.

"You been drinking?"

"No...uh, yes. Not excessively. I had two fingers of whiskey before I went to bed."

"You have a history of sleepwalking, Mr. Graham?"

"I'm not even sure if I'm awake now," Will grumbled, staring dreamily at whatever was in front of him, hearing only his pulse coursing through his veins at a constant, fluid stream.

The next morning, Will drove to the location of a hotel Jack had requested to meet him and the rest of the unit at. As soon as Will stumbled sleepily out of the car, sore from walking nearly 10 miles in his sleep, Jack made his way over and instantly began rattling off a report to him. "Room was registered to a John Smith," Jack started.

"Heh, big surprise there," Will laughed at the obvious fake name, "An appalling failure of imagination."

"They paid cash," Jack continued discussing the perpetrator of the crime, "There are no security cameras on the premises, another big surprise."

"John Smith one of the victims?" Will yawned again, his eyes watering.

"He's the guy we're after. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson are the victims, according to the register. They were mutilated and displayed. I thought it might be the Chesapeake Ripper, but there were no surgical trophies taken." Jack turned to Will, stopping him in his tracks with a light grasp on his shoulder before adding, "Will. I'm gonna need you to prepare for this one."

"I'm prepared," Will sighed, slightly agitated.

"Prepare yourself some more, it's soup in there."

"Soup is good for the soul," Will chuckled bitterly.

"Not this kind. Alright, look, there are no jurisdictional rivalries here. The local police begged us to take this." Jack examined Will closely, then after detecting his exhaustion he asked, "Where's your head?"

"It's on my pillow. I didn't sleep."

"Got just the thing to wake you up," Jack raised his eyebrows before opening the door to the crime scene. They both stepped inside.

Will heard his heart beat grow louder and the police chatter around him fade away as he saw the gore before him. Mr. and Mrs Anderson were naked, on their knees, apparently praying at the foot of the bed. The skin from their backs was peeled but not removed, revealing their bones, flesh, and vital organs. The skin, however, was hooked to the ceiling, lifted like angel wings. Will swallowed deeply, probably keeping down premature vomit, and blinked rapidly. It was like nothing he had seen before. "Okay. Now I'm awake."

He didn't listen to the theories the other investigators had as he approached the sight before him. He only decided to listen to their false assumptions before he had something day, catching on by hearing, "Pagans mocking the God fearing." He had no idea what they were talking about, but he knew they were wrong.

"No. He isn't mocking them." The investigators turned to him, giving him their full attention; immediately making Will feel uncomfortable. He continued anyway, "He's transforming them."

"I don't know if it was a good night's sleep, but he slept here," Katz told him, "Hair on the pillow and the sheets are damp. He's a sweater."

"Madness slept here last night."

"He threw up on the nightstand-"

"-He couldn't stomach what he did."

"Flop sweat...and nervous indigestion," Katz sighed.

"Not nervous. Righteous," Will replied, "He thinks he's elevating them somehow." He stood over the bed by the pillows, clenching his fists and closing his eyes. The pendulum swung before his eyes as he placed himself in the mind of the murderer.

"I lay a plastic sheet on the bed," he began before committing the crime. "This is not who you are," he told the Anderson couple. He stared at his act, his creations, before laying back on the bed and observing. "This is my gift to you. I allow you to become angels." He paused. "And now, I lay me down to sleep..."

That afternoon, Will decided it would be best to stop by Dr. Lecter's home and seek counseling for his seemingly slipping sanity. "I'm sorry, I should have called first," Will said as he watched Hannibal busy in the kitchen.

"Never apologize for coming to me, Will," he pulled a tray of delicious smelling food from the oven. "Office hours are for patients. My kitchen is always open to friends. Onset of sleepwalking in adulthood is less common than in children. Could it be a seizure?"

"I'd argue good old fashioned post-traumatic stress," Will swallowed and nervously tapped his fingers on the counter.

Hannibal chuckled, making Will doubt his theory. However, Lecter knew perfectly well that PTSD was likely. _But why not play a game with him? He's a smart man. _"Jack Crawford has gotten your hands very dirty."

"I wasn't forced back into the field."

"I wouldn't say forced. Manipulated would be the word I'd use."

"I can handle it."

"Somewhere between denying horrible events and calling them out stands the truth of psychological trauma," Hannibal suggested.

Will sighed, "So I can't handle it." He smiled nervously, his eyes darting around the floor.

"Your experience may have overwhelmed ordinary functions that give you a sense of control-"

"-If my body is walking around without my permission, you'd say that's a loss of control? Wouldn't you?"

Hannibal pondered the question while spicing the liver of a former neighbor. "Sleepwalkers demonstrate a difficulty handling aggression. Are you experiencing difficulty with aggressive feelings?"

"You said Jack sees me as fine China, used for special guests. I'm beginning to feel more like an old mug."

"You entered into a devil's bargain with Jack. It takes a toll," Hannibal moved to the fridge, removing some fresh herbs.

"Jack isn't the devil," Will laughed nervously.

"When it comes to how far he's willing to push you to get what he wants, he's certainly no Saint." Hannibal watched Will's face twist ever so slightly in betrayal and confusion, and he couldn't help but feel a microscopic grin spread across his face. He felt a rush from manipulating Will, but at the same time, felt as if he was fulfilling a destiny and doing the man a favor. _Perhaps_, he thought, _Will would become an even bigger use to me than I thought._

The next morning, Will came to work early. It seemed that every time he was alone, he say Garret Jacob Hobbs skinning backs and smiling insanely. The man seemed to burn into Will's thoughts like a cancer. He rubbed both of his hands down his face in frustration and exhaustion before looking up at the cabinets in his office. They were streaming with water, slowly flooding the floor. He only stared as the elk returned into his office, lapping up the water that slowly turned into blood. He blinked repeatedly, but the image didn't go away until he heard a knock on his opened door. He looked up at Norah, catching her smile before it turned to concern. "Will, are you okay?" she rushed over to him. He only smiled and looked at her dreamily. "I-I'm fine..." he looked down to recognize his pale skin against his rolled up sleeves. Moving his hands from his coffee mug, he could feel how sweaty his hands had become.

"You don't look okay...how much sleep did you get last night?"

"Six hours," he lied. She shot him a doubtful, disapproving glance.

He sighed, "An hour."

"An hour!" She sounded even more worried, he winced playfully. "This isn't a joke, Will," she continued before calming down and sitting on a non-cluttered corner of his desk, facing him in his office chair. "What's going on with you?" They exchanged a long glance, hers filled with concern, his with care.

"I'm going to be fine, Norah," he eventually broke the silence, placing his hand on hers. She immediately looked down to it. "I promise."

She sighed before getting down from the desk, causing him to move his hand. "Well you don't feel fine," she told him putting a hand to his forehead, he was still seated. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"I'm working things out with Dr. Lecter."

"I mean a physician, Graham."

"Come on," he told her, removing her hand from his forehead and holding it tightly, slowly pulling her closer to him. "It's not that serious."

"You don't know that-" she started, standing in between his slightly open legs and holding both his hands now. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

He gave her a half-truth, "Because I'm thinking of you," he smiled up at her. He felt even more ecstatic as her cheeks slowly flushed with pink.

"Will-" she said before another knock sounded at the door. They both kept their positions but turned their heads to see who was there. Of course, it was Agent Crawford, a Starbucks cappuccino in one hand and a file in the other. He looked perplexed and offput as he stuttered out, "Uhhh...good morning Will, Ms. Cowan."

"Good morning," Norah replied, letting go of Will's hands and turning completely to Jack. Will lingered before spinning in his chair to face his boss as well.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything..." Jack drifted with an upward inflection in his tone.

"Not at all," Will grumbled yet maintained a positive attitude.

"Well, Ms. Cowan, I think Katz needed you in the lab. Graham, we think we found our guy. There was a repeat offense downtown and he...left something."

"Left what?" Will asked as he stood, rolling down his sleeves and putting on his coat from the back of his chair.

"The family jewels," Jimmy Price, another unit employee added as he popped up behind Jack.

"Good morning Jimmy," Norah beamed.

"Good morning Ms. Cowan!" Jimmy replied in his perpetual good humour.

Will only groaned to himself as the thoughts Hannibal had put in his head were slowly seeming true.

Eventually, they found the man they were after. Elliot Budish. He was dying of severe cancer and for all they knew, any day could have been his last. His family had left him, and they had also discovered his near-death experience: suffocating in a fire as a young boy, apparently saved by a "guardian angel" at the farm he grew up. That was where they discovered him, strung up in the barn his family rebuilt after the fire. He had made himself into an angel.

Will stared up at the skinned corpse before him, his stomach churning and the smell of death becoming far too familiar for his liking. He had stayed like that for the duration of the investigation, pictures snapping around him and reports being filed via walkie-talkie. When they had finished, he still lingered before turning to Jack nervously and saying, "I don't know how much longer I can be all that useful to you, Jack."

Jack seemed shocked, yet maintained his usual unenthused tone. "Really? You caught three."

"The last three we had, you caught," Will nodded his head and raised his eyebrows.

"You caught three of them."

"No, I didn't catch this one. Elliot Budish surrendered."

Jack sighed in frustration. "You know, I'm used to my wife not talking to me. I don't have to get used to you not talking to me, too."

Will took a deep, shaken breath, straining out the urgent words, "It's getting harder and harder to make myself look."

"Well, nobody's asking you to look alone."

Will felt immediate, sharp hurt at Jack's obvious lack of concern, understanding, and sympathy. Hannibal was right, Jack was using him. "But I am looking alone, and you know what looking at this does."

"I know what happens if you don't look, and so do you."

"I can make myself look, but the thinking is shutting down," Will replied, his voice becoming clicky and his fists clenching.

Jack paused, concerned. "What is it about this one?"

Will ran his hands through his hair, shutting his eyes tightly, "It isn't this one, it's _all of them. _It's the next one, the one I _know_ is coming after that-"

"Oh what, Graham? You wanna go back to the lecture hall and read about this shit on Tattlecrime dot com?"

"No...I don't. But that may be what I have to do," he paused, trying to refrain from screaming psychotically. "This is bad for me-"

"-I'm not your father, Will! I'm not gonna tell you what you ought to do."

"Seems like that's _exactly_ what you're gonna do-" Will let the words slide out in a passive aggressive laugh.

Jack obviously was tired of putting up with the matter at hand. "You go back to your classroom. When there's killing going on that you could've prevented, it will sour your classroom forever."

"Maybe. And then maybe I'll find a job as a diesel mechanic in a boatyard."

"You wanna quit?" Jack asked as he walked out of the barn, turning back to Will as he stood in the doorframe. "Quit." He then left Will alone, with nothing but an anger growing in his heart and a sense of guilt he couldn't seem to shake off. He still stood staring at the doorway until he heard chains and hooks rustling behind him. Turning, he saw Elliot Budish on his knees by Will. His back was still skinned and bloody, and his voice was rusty and almost, ironically, demonic.

"I see...what you are..."Elliot wheezed, staring at Will with cold, pale, dead eyes that were far too similar to Hobbs'. "I... can bring it out of you," Elliot continued, "What do you see? Inside...I...can bring it out...of you...not all the way out..." he coughed, "I can give you the majesty...of true becoming..." Will breathed quickly and heavily, feeling that he must be losing his mind, feeling a tidal wave of sanity and sense become a tangle upon bloodied antlers, feeling like taking this dead man up on his offer... The fantasy stopped as soon as he heard Norah's voice yelling outside the barn. He closed his eyes and opened them, only to reveal Elliot strung back up on the chains. Like an angel.

_Of course he's up there,_ Will told himself, _he never came down._

Will shuddered to himself and felt the urge to cry, to scream, to collapse onto the floor in confusion and frustration, hatred and disgust. Instead, he only intensified his breathing, feeling his face heat up and his eyes become moist. Pulling himself together, he sniffled once and listened to Norah's intense anger directed towards...who? Despite the sharp pain he felt whenever she was distraught, her voice always seemed to soothe his nerves and bring him back to reality.

"YOU ARE AWARE THAT HIS HEALTH IS AT STAKE, AREN'T YOU? YOU ARE AWARE-"

"Norah-" a voice tried to calm her down. Jack's voice, of course. But how come no one else was talking?

"-THAT YOU ARE LIABLE IF HE BECOMES MENTALLY UNSTABLE OR IS HOSPITALIZED-"

"-Ms. Cowan, I just informed Will that he can quit ANYTIME. It's his choice to stay or go, and his alone. He is accountable for himself, no matter how concerned you may be!"

Norah stopped talking. Then, her had to really strain himself to hear her speak at a normal volume from a far distance. He managed to make out, "I'm sorry, Agent Crawford."

"I understand. You're coming in at nine tomorrow, correct?"

"Yes sir."

"Excellent," he replied before adding, "Keep up the good work." He heard footsteps before, "Oh, and Ms. Cowan?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for keeping an eye on him."

"Of course."

Will felt even more depressed and confused. Did she really feel the way he did? Or was she only watching over him and keeping him safe? He didn't need a guardian angel, he didn't need a friend. That was Dr. Lecter's place. With her, he felt like he was sane. She was his anchor, and he was hoping he could be the same for her. _Look at yourself, Will_ he thought, _did you honestly believe you can take care of anyone when you can't even take care of yourself? _He felt his jaw tighten in bitter disappointment until a soothing touch was applied to his shoulder. He turned to Norah.

"No wonder you can't sleep," she told him, removing her hand and staring up at the gruesome sight above them. "You shouldn't look more than you have to-"

"-What do you think of me?" Will interrupted her, sounding hurt but masked with a loving playfulness. He waited for a response as he stared up at the angel, almost incapable of looking away. "I told you what I thought when I helped you move into your place. And my opinion remains unaltered so..." He surrendered to silence, the fallen leaves outside rustling in their natural piles.

He shivered lightly as she took a deep breath, starting, "I think..." she paused again, obviously thinking her answer through. Will moved his head from the dead man hanging to her in anticipation. She started again, "I think, that you are smart. I really do. But I also think you're torturing yourself...yet you aren't aware of it. It's almost habitual. And it hurts me to see a man like you, a decent, fun, honest, kind man like you with such a large heart be scarred and ruined by all of this." She took a deep breath before tagging along, "You can see everything except the fact that you're hurting yourself. And it hurts me too, to see you...like this."

He blinked quickly and had nary a clue what to say. He could only feel. And for once, the feeling wasn't fear, or confusion, or anger in any way. It was affection. It was care. It was the feeling that finally someone could see who he truly was, that he wasn't broken. He felt like she could understand him entirely without him having to explain one iota. He stared down at the barn floor below him and let a brief laugh of bashful appreciation slide out of him before she barely turned in front of him and wrapped her arms around his neck, almost like the day he killed Garret Jacob Hobbs. Except this time, it was more loving than comforting, yet still he managed to take comfort in it. Her allowed her head to rest under his as he held one hand on her lower back, pressing her tighter against him. He curved one hand behind her head, slowly removing it and sliding it down her back with his fingertips until his hand found its way to her waist. He stayed there, yet holding her even closer as a sigh of relief barely escape his lips and into her ear.

When she eventually pulled back, she placed her hand to where her four fingers where moving through his hair tenderly, and her thumb was in front of his ear. She leaned in and quickly kissed his stubbled, rough cheek, her breath warming his skin like rays of sunshine. She lingered when she pulled back to look at him, meeting her eyes with his. "I'll see you tomorrow, Will," she told him cheerfully before moving one of her hands from his face and the other from behind his neck, sliding them down his chest ever so subtly until she met his heart and walked away. Will stayed in the barn, smiling to himself charmingly, slowly raising a hand to touch where she kissed his cheek. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before heading back home himself.

**Kinda sweet but kinda angsty as her feelings are not quite clear. Is Will going to finally win Norah's heart? Or does she see him as someone she needs to look after?! SO MANY QUESTIONS. We'll find out in the next chapter! :D MWAHAHAHAHAAAAAA. Thanks so much you guys! Let me know what you think, a review never fails to make my day!**


	6. VI: A Clutch for Balance

**Okay brace yourselves. Will/Norah shit is going down. Is she gonna accept Will...or decline Will? And why am I talking about Will like he's a** **Mastercard?! Also I've started adding those line break things in between scenes to make the transition a little bit more obvious. Hopefully it will help. THANK YOU DAKOTA FOR THE ADVICE YOU ARE THE LIGHT OF MY LIFE MOTHERFUCKER! :D**

**I only own Norah Cowan**

He awoke around 3:04 when he heard the howling outside. It wasn't like one he had ever heard before, the voice seemed to be panting in a scratchy manner while somehow screaming out in a vibrato that varied in pitch. It must have been close. Was its intention to provoke fear...or to stalk it prey?

Will felt the paranoia coursing through him as he opened the window by his bed and poked his head out into the frosty air. The howling only became clearer to him, as if it were coming from the back of his house. It made sense, considering the backyard dissolved into a dark forest. Will grabbed his robe and tied it around him clumsily while treading lightly downstairs. Winston followed closely at his feet, and the two older dogs that didn't sleep in Will's room sleepily lifted their heads to observe what Will was up to. Stumbling to unlock the door, he immediately crossing his arms around himself tightly as he stepped out onto the back porch, the wood freezing cold under his bare feet. Will then strained his eyes in the dark, in hopes of catching a glimmer of an animal, perhaps light reflecting from its eyes.

The call intensified, coming closer and from a specific direction. Will made his way towards the sound, but as soon as he walked off the porch, the noise stopped, without an echo. He should have at least heard an echo, or the animal trekking the frosted grass and undergrowth. It was as if the animal was never there. Will shut his eyes tightly and whispered something inaudible to himself before walking back inside. His house was filled with a silence so rich that it put him even more on edge. He crawled back into his bed, wrapping himself securely in the blankets and drifting back to sleep.

Around 5:26, he found himself practically crucified upon a rack of antlers, his head hanging low and red-black blood dripping down his puncture wounds. He didn't seem to feel it, rather he felt a sharp, broken pain at his right foot, so sharp it caused him to wake up. He opened his eyes slowly and rubbed the sleep out of them. A moan of exhaustion escaped his lips before he realized where he was. On his roof. Outside, the sun was rising slowly and the fog was thin on the ground, thickening into the forest. He looked down to the crow, pecking at his foot without breaking the skin. Shooing it off, he turned to see all of his dogs staring out the window of his bedroom. It took him a moment to remember opening it, then he remembered the animal in his imagination, and grew even _more_ frustrated with himself. Was this another dream? How was he to know? It was obvious he was losing his mind, no matter how much he tried to deny it. He trudged back inside and closed the window behind him, then remembered today was his day off. Hopefully in the morning light, he could catch up on his most needed sleep without any further disruption.

* * *

A harsh knock on the door woke him up again. Stretching in bed, he checked the clock. 9:49? Four hours was quite the improvement. Without thinking of grabbing his robe, he shuffled downstairs, yawning. Before answering the front door, he noticed the back door was wide open. _So last night wasn't a dream_ he thought, a bare tremor sliding through his breath. He looked around for his dogs, who typically waited for him downstairs. Winston was the only one inside though, wagging his tail and sitting at Will's heel. "Hey boy," Will flashed a sad smile and closed the backdoor before answering the front one.

No one was immediately at the door, but he did see who answered it. Norah Cowan was off of the porch and standing in the grass that led up to his house. She was greeted by Will's dogs, who she was laughing and playing with, throwing the ball as three went after it, and playing with the two older ones who jumped up on her on shaky, aged legs. She giggled and rubbed their ears lovingly, giving them praises. It was clear they remembered her from when she spent the night. Will smiled at the sight of her and the dogs, laughing under his breath. When the other dogs returned with the ball, one had it in its mouth and the others chased him, he heard her say, "Good boy!" and throw the ball again. She watched them chase after it again before turning to Will, surprised to see him. "You're alive!" she teased.

"What?" Will continued smiling as he walked barefoot into the grass. She walked over to him as well, the two older dogs hobbling behind her.

"I've been here for like, ten minutes. I was just about to leave because I assumed you were sleeping-" she then turned to the dogs at her side, "but _these boys _didn't want me to, did they?" she reached down to pet them lovingly for a moment and they panted out of happiness. Standing back up she asked, "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. I'm just glad you're okay."

Will was confused. "...I...I'm sorry, I don't follow."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "You called me last night? My phone was off, I didn't see your message until this morning."

He didn't remember it at all. _Didn't I go straight to bed?_ he thought, straining his memory.

"Well anyway," she continued, "did you find it?"

He assumed he called about the animal he heard last night and felt a wave of embarrassment crash over him. "Uhm...no. Not yet. I shouldn't have called you though, especially that late-"

She laughed, "Don't worry about it! It gave me an excuse to call in for a day off. Does the offer still stand?"

He remained confused. "Hmmm?" he mumbled.

"Someone just woke up. Does the offer of me helping you find the animal still stand?"

He considered his options. Saying no will clear the air about the animal being in his head, but saying yes meant spending the day with her. Of course he told her, "Yes...of course!"

"Great!"

He smiled at her before looking down at himself, wearing only his boxers and a t-shirt. "Um...I'm compelled to go cover myself," he admitted in embarrassment.

"I have brothers," she gleamed.

"Well, I'll put a robe on just the same. Come in, I'll make coffee."

As he brewed the coffee, he told her, "I'll be right back," before going up the stairs to change. He brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face before washing it, then combing through his thick brown hair. He wore jeans and a moderately tight-fitting forest green sweater, rolling up the sleeves just below his elbows. He humbly checked his reflection before quickly making his way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"You look nice," she beamed at him. He returned a grateful smile before pouring the coffee from the coffee maker into mugs for both of them. "Here you go-" he handed it to her, "Careful!"

"Thank you."

"Did you have breakfast or..."

"What? Oh, yeah I had somethin' at home. But please, go ahead, eat something!" she told him, sitting at the kitchen table as he poured himself some cereal. He leaned against the counter, facing her while he ate.

"...You can sit," she giggled.

"Oh, I know, I'm good." He sipped his coffee. "So you managed a day off?"

"Yeah. When I told Jack you called, he figured after yesterday it would be better for me to come here. I think today was gonna be slow for me anyways."

Will swallowed down some cereal before asking, "You...told Jack I called?"

An appearance of guilt cast a shadow over Norah's face. "Oh, well I didn't get into detail. All I said was you called and I wanted to drop by and help you."

"Help me catch an animal, not dive into my psyche."

She set her coffee down and slightly huffed, "A-are you angry at me or something?"

"No," Will assured her, taking another drink. "I just don't want Jack thinking I'm...losing my mind." _Am I being paranoid again? _he asked himself. She didn't seem to think so. "Don't worry," she said. "I think Jack recognizes he's pushing you too hard. That's why you got the day off too, right?"

He nodded and felt bad for snapping at her, deciding to open up a bit. "...I was on my roof early this morning."

Her eyes widened while swallowed down the fresh black coffee. "Why?" she asked.

"I don't know...I was sleep walking. I woke up...with a crow pecking at my foot. A-and I turned around and all of my dogs were staring at me through the window."

She took a concerned beat before asking, "How are you sessions with Dr. Lecter going?"

"Dr. Lecter isn't the problem, believe me...if anything he helps me realize what could be affecting me."

"Or making you prone to them."

"...Do you not think he's credible?"

"The guy has the creds, but I mean look at politicians. They may have the proper credits, it doesn't mean you should agree with them and absorb everything they advise."

Will let her words tumble through his head before asking, "How's Abigail?"

"She's...better. Freddie is of course pestering her for a book deal constantly. But she is healing, and...I can't get into detail of course, but she bears no ill will to you."

Will nodded, pressing his lips closely together before finishing his cereal and downing the rest of his coffee. He rinsed out the bowl and the mug as he stared out the window over his sink. "It looks a lot frostier out than the forecast let on," he sighed, trying to keep Abigail out of his head. Even if she forgave him completely, the guilt that hung over his head would remain, taunting him at every turn.

"Good thing I brought a coat then," she stood from her chair, tucking it back under the table before standing next to Will and placing her cup in the sink as well. She smiled, her craving for adventure shining through. "Let's go."

* * *

"If it wasn't a coyote, the coyotes probably got it," he sighed while they were out in the field behind his house. Their breath created a smoke in front of them and the long, frosted over grass crunched under their feet. She borrowed a beanie from him, a black one. He wore a grey one. She wore a black peacot over her outfit; a sheer grey blouse and a small pencil skirt, black pantyhose underneath. "Probably got it even if it was a coyote," Will added.

"You're not expecting to find it alive, are you?" she asked.

"We'll be lucky to find a paw," he chuckled. She seemed concerned.

"So you invited me over to help you collect animal parts?" she laughed sarcastically. "I'm honored."

"I invited you over on the off chance we do find it alive. It's hard for me to wrangle a wounded animal by myself."

"What makes you say it's wounded?"

"It howled like it was in great pain," he sighed.

"Well, even so, look at me. I'm not exactly strong. Why not call Dr. Lecter over? You two are close."

Will chortled again, "Is it wrong for me to want to spend time with you?"

"No," she smiled. "I don't blame you, I am pretty great," she said in a sarcastic, pretend-vain attitude.

"Don't joke about that," Will teased, "You are."

"Whatever... Are you seeing anything?"

"Uh, no, actually. I'm not even seeing any tracks. I mean, except for the ones we made." He looked around the field by the forest before turning to face Norah. The expression he read from her almost crushed him. _She knows it was in my head_, he thought. _She thinks I'm losing my mind too._ All sound seemed to fade out to his own heartbeat as he saw a black stag walking behind her. It was a familiar sight by now, but still stopped him dead, unable to react.

"_Will? Will..." _he heard somewhere far away. "WILL!" He suddenly gained complete consciousness again as she grabbed him, as if he was about to pass out.

"Hey, Will. Are you okay?"

He became aware of his heavy breathing and clammy skin. "Y-yeah...I'm fine, thanks," he told her, standing up straight.

"You just turned three shades of green, I don't think you're okay." Though he felt her eyes on him, he couldn't bring himself to return the look. Trying to pull himself together, he managed, "You...think I'm unstable."

"What? No!" Her tone was somehow dubious _and _genuine. "I do think you need help though. Medical attention, not just...therapy. Or whatever the hell this Dr. Lecter is providing."

"What do you have against Dr. Lecter..."

"Nothing! I just don't believe he's putting the right things in your head, Will. Your job is giving you enough wounds, you don't need Hannibal to twist his knife in them."

Wondering how on earth she could know about the way Hannibal made her feel, her input always seemed to be the most logical advice to apply to his life. Why couldn't he follow it?

Almost as if she read his mind, she added, "Just because I'm not your psychiatrist doesn't mean you can't take my advice. I know you aren't my patient, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try to care for you."

After a while he nodded, then smiled at her, a way of thanking her without words. "Come on. Let's head back," he said, lightly touching her back with his fingertips to turn her around. They began to return to his house, trudging through the chilled weeds and pasture. "You said you had brothers?" he changed the subject casually.

"Three," she nodded. "Two in the military now, one is in Houston as a tattoo artist and a Walmart grocery bagger."

"Are you the youngest?"

"The second youngest, yeah," she smiled. "My family is...is pretty crazy," she laughed as they continued walking. She kept her hands in her pockets, shivering slightly.

"Really?" Will asked, genuinely curious. "Tell me about them."

"Aah...come on, you don't wanna hear it-"

"-Sure I do!" She paused, considering telling him the story. "_Come_ _on_," he badgered her cheerfully.

"Okay, okay," she laughed, closing her eyes tightly as if he was causing her pain. "Fine...I grew up in Maine, like I told you. My mom was your typical stay-at-home-mom until I was about...nine? Yeah...nine...she became a teacher." She looked at Will before continuing, "Have I bored you yet?"

"Stop that!" Will laughed, "Keep going, I'm interested!"

She sighed, "She taught the third grade. And like I said, I was nine, so of course she was my teacher when I was in third grade. And she humiliated me at every chance she got," she giggled, obviously not intending to advertise any serious struggle. "My dad was a lawyer, you know, he was so much fun. The thing about my parents was, they always taught us interesting things and kept that spark in us, you know? That spark of wanting to learn more and always being curious."

"I can tell that trait stuck," Will smiled.

"Ohhhh yeah. Definitely. Anyways, I would always play with the boys when I was younger. The girls wouldn't let me play with them. I didn't really mind though, there was another girl that hung out with me too, who I actually stayed best friends with until we went our separate ways for college. I'm getting too trivial here...anyway, yeah. Overall I had a great family experience, they are just...very quirky. They were very social, and loving to everyone, but towards high school they fell apart, like most marriages tend to do..."

Will shot her a sad expression. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be! You know my parents were resilient. They never divorced, they worked at it. They hammered persistence into us, and they practiced what they preached. Uhm...yeah. They certainly ensured my brothers and I were good people. My uh... my dad past away last year though. He battled cancer for the longest time, and eventually it spread to his brain. So...you know, it's...it's certainly hard."

Will let the silence linger for a moment, for he knew sometimes that's what people needed. Not a sermon about life and death, a lecture on how to dwell on the good times; sometimes silence was the best way to heal. However, he did say, "That's very unfortunate...I'm sorry."

She nodded. "...Yeah...what about you?" She laughed, trying to blow off the emotions she felt for her dad.

"Well, I don't have much of a story to tell-"

"-Neither did I?"

"Touche. Uh...I'm an only child. Sort of had to raise myself morally, but my parents were good providers. I loved school. They divorced. Blah blah blah, I used to fix boat motors in Louisiana, then I decided to put my...abilities, as you so carefully call them, to use and become an FBI profiler."

"Ha!" she threw her head back in a cackle, "I love how you just slid that Louisiana part in there, like I wouldn't be curious about it."

"There really isn't much to say about it," he chuckled.

"Well do you regret your decision? Joining the FBI?"

He took a moment to summon a response. "I...it...I guess the most sufficient answer I can give you is it has it's ups and downs." She kept listening, non-verbally encouraging him to continue. He did. "I mean, I'm not afraid to admit that it's prominent...for me to be helping catch these, these psychopaths the way I do...but I'm sure Jack told you that... it's getting hard to look. You're smart, Norah. You see how I'm..."

"Traumatized?"

"I was going to say slipping," he chuckled.

She waited. "Do _you_ think you're unstable?"

"_Unstable_ is a bit of an overstatement...I...I want to be honest with you. But I don't want you to...see me in a different light."

"Will, you should know by now that I take every part of a person into account. I don't just take segments of who they are or what they are going through and define them life that. Besides, who am I to define anyone? Diagnose, maybe. Assist, of course, but does anyone really have a pinpoint explanation of another person?"

Her response made him feel insouciant as he began to come clean. "I've been sleepwalking and losing focus, not feeling well...I've been...hearing things, I mean god knows if this animal we're after ever even existed." He kept the hallucinations to himself.

"The best thing you can do, Will, is recognize these things. Make sure you know what reality is and what your imagination is inspiring. You have a blessing and a curse, and with the job you have, you need to find some...some sort of balance. Some sort of anchor."

They arrived at his house as she spoke, going up the porch stairs and standing there. Will could only stare deep into Norah's eyes, trying to compose himself. He knew he had to tell her how he felt, to come clean now before she was taken by someone else, or before his condition worsened. She seemed wide-eyed and curious about what he had to say.

"Honestly...I believe you're the anchor I need. I mean, you help me keep my balance and help me grasp my uh...my sense of security."

"Well I'm glad, Will!" she smiled innocently.

"No, Norah, I...I may have a severe sense of empathy. But that doesn't necessarily indicate that I know what you think...what you think _this _is, our relationship, whatever, I..." he trailed off, looking out into the field again before back at her. "I may be struggling right now. But I'm going to get better. And I take a large amount of comfort in, well, in you." He waited before saying, "You said, out in the field, that you weren't going to stop caring for me. I don't believe I'll ever stop caring about you, either."

"Will, you don't know-"

"-I _know_ what I want, Norah," he said, stepping closer to her, "I know I want you." They were extremely close, almost pressed against each other. He stared down at her face, feeling the warmth of her breath.

"You do?" she sighed faintly.

"Mmhmm," he purred, his eyes darkening. He raised his hands to her face, moving a strand of hair behind her ear. He lingered there, searching her gaze, before slowly moving closer, his lips brushing against hers ever so softly. He then formed his lips against hers a bit wider, and she wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him in closer. He moved his hands from her face to behind her back, holding her and bringing her close. He felt her warm, quivering breath whenever they would draw back, the softness of her full lips against his. He began to kiss her even more passionately, a slight moan escaping from her that made him smile. "Will," she said when he lightly pulled back to take a breath before kissing her again and again. "Hmm?" he moaned, moving from her lips to her jaw, and down to her neck, tickling her face with his slight beard. She paused for a moment as he kissed her neck at a spot that made her feel chills of pleasure. "Ungh...W-Will, hey, Will," she breathed, trying to get his attention. He raised his head and stared down at her again, still holding her against him. "What is it?" he asked, pressing his lips together in an attempt to taste her sweet kiss again.

"I don't think I can do this," she spoke softly, not moving away from him.

"What, are we...are we going too fast?" he asked her, murmuring low and placing his forehead against hers, their noses touching.

"No, I just...I can't be with you, the way you want me to be."

"Why not?" he asked, his voice pinging with concern.

"Because...we both are too involved with our work, and all these, these completely fucked up things we deal with-"

"-Well can't we help each other?"

"Will," she took a breath, "I don't think you need to be focusing on anyone but yourself."

"Come on, Norah," he groaned, "You have to stop _thinking...so much."_

"You have enough on your plate, Will. And if we become..."

"-Intimate," Will filled in for her, his face a few inches from hers.

"Right...What I'm saying is, you shouldn't have a girlfriend until you figure out...what's going on, with you. And besides, you've met me, I'm ridiculous, I'm not exactly girlfriend mater-"

He cut her off by gently kissing her again, moving one hand back to her face and the other slowly moving down her back. She couldn't help but succumb to him, gliding her lips across his. He softly nipped at her lower lip before she pulled away, leaving him breathless. "I...am _not _your patient," he told her in a raspy voice. She slid her hands from behind his neck and down his chest.

"Will. I know. But I can't be your girlfriend-"

"Norah-"

"-when what you _need_ is a consort." He looked away from her, breathing heavily in disappointment. She was crushing him, it felt painful to breathe.

"I'm sorry, Will." She began to leave as she shot him a heartbreaking, almost pitiful look. He could only stand their in the cold, staring at the wooden boards of the porch. He only watched her when she backed away from his house and drove down the road, leaving his sight. A tear began to fall from his cheek as he looked down to Winston, whimpering at his heel, almost as if he knew how Will felt.

* * *

Dr. Lecter answered a frantic knock at the door. "I kissed Norah Cowan," Will started, inviting himself in the house. His heavy eyes were bloodshot and shadowed by dark circles. "Well, come in," Hannibal addressed the empty doorway as Will passed him. He closed the door. "I was just making dinner," he started, "But you are in luck, for I believe I prepared enough for two."

"I'm not hungry," Will started before smelling the food Hannibal was preparing. The aroma changed his mind instantly, causing Hannibal to smirk. "Tell me, what was Norah's reaction?"

"She said I need to focus on myself rather than someone else...that she could only be my _consort."_

"Well, I don't disagree," Hannibal sighed, stir-frying a dark meat with a blend of fresh vegetables and Asian sauces. "She would feel an obligation to her field of study to observe and console you, and you would resent her for it."

"I know," Will swallowed down the pain. It apparently was too strong to swallow.

"Wondering then, why you kissed her, and felt compelled to drive an hour over here from your house into the snow to tell me about it."

"Well, I wanted to kiss her since I met her," Will sighed with a sad smile, "She's very kissable."

"You certainly do lighten up around her, Will. It's obvious, she does seem to invoke a certain romantic flare in you."

"Not helping."

Hannibal rolled his eyes. _Love, _he thought, _I thought Will was smarter than to stoop to that emotion. _He masked his ideas by continuing, "You've waited to kiss her for a long time, which suggests you were kissing her for a reason, in addition to wanting to."

Will rand his hands over his eyes. "I told her. And I think...I think her face changed."

"What did you tell her?"

"That...that I'm sleepwalking. I get headaches. I am hearing things," Will moaned. "Dr. Lecter...I feel unstable."

"That's why you kissed her," Hannibal replied, turning off the stove and gracefully plating the beautiful food. "A clutch for balance."

Will cringed. _You need to find some sort of balance. Some sort of anchor._ Norah's words echoed through his mind.

Hannibal continued, addressing his instability by referring to his career. "You said yourself what you do is not good for you."

"Well, unfortunately, I am good at it."

"Are you still hearing this killer's serenade behind your eyes?"

Will chuckled bitterly, "Well, it's our song."

**WHAT IS GONNA HAPPEN!? WILL SOMEONE DIE!? IS NORAH MOVE AWAY, CHANGE HER MIND ABOUT WILL, START SEEING SOMEONE ELSE, OR JUST FUCKING LIVE HER LIFE LIKE BEFORE?! IS WILL GOING TO GET EVEN CRAZIER OR TRY TO HEAL FOR THE WOMAN HE LOVES!? AND WHAT IS HANNIBAL UP TO!? Keep reading! I love you guys so much!**


	7. VII: Ode to Lonesome Nights

**Hey guys! First of all let me say I really appreciate all your kind reviews, I mean I know traditionally 12 reviews isn't a lot but to me it means like, a lot. An insane amount. So thank you. Here is a brief author's note to answer some of your questions! **

**_Is there no Alana Bloom in this fic?_**** No, because I wanted Norah to have her job but be totally different from Alana. I took Alana out because if I wrote her but made her completely different, what's the point? She'd be OOC, ya know? **

**_why are you sticking so close to teh actual script? i mean its totes awesome with the little deviations and stuff but i'm just curious? _****Well because I wanted to write it present-time because I am hoping to write this throughout the duration of the show. So when I take a break that means I'll be at where Will is in the show, and I'll continue writing when Season 2 starts. IDK I may keep going once I hit the season finale in this story but who knows, it's nowhere near finished yet c:**

_**Ugh Norah. What are ya doin'? **_**Ahahaha xD Well, I'd snatch Will up in a heartbeat but Norah is just confused and trying to be professional and do what she thinks is best for Will. Who knows what will happen?! ;D**

**Thanks so much guys!**

**I only own Norah Cowan**

* * *

"The victim is Douglas Wilson," Jack started. Will followed him into the concert hall and immediately saw Douglas, sitting in a chair, neck sliced and head hanging back, his vocal cords exposed. A spotlight shined and eerie light over the victim. "A member of the Baltimore Metropolitan Orchestra's brass section. A trombone player." Will walked up the stage and towards the body, Jack stayed on the ground and spoke to him from there. "He was killed shortly after his last performance. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head."

"His killer brought him here to put on a show," Will thought out loud.

"Will," Jack asked, "Is it just me or is it becoming easier for you to look?" His voice sounded hopeful.

"I tell myself It's purely an intellectual exercise."

"Well, in the narrow view of forensics, - that's exactly what it is-"

"-They're not any easier, Jack," Will said clearly, making direct eye contact. Agent Crawford couldn't help but detect his tired, bloodshot eyes, stained with sadness and pain. He wanted to ask what was going on, but decided to leave it to Dr. Lecter. Will went on, "I...I don't know. I shake it off, keep on looking." He shook his head slightly and looked back down at the victim before him.

"Good. You shake it off. Get to work," Jack tried to sound encouraging and kind but yet maintain a professional attitude as the boss. Noticing Will starting the breathe heavier and close his eyes, he finished with, "We'll come back in when you're ready for us." Walking down the aisle of seats he gathered the attention of the other investigators and whirled his finger around, directing them to clear out. An ambient hum and high pulse expanded in Will's mind as the pendulum swung before his eyes.

"I open his throat from the outside to open the trachea and expose the vocal chords," Will said, slicing at the neck with a thin, delicate cut, tilting back the head. "I open his throat from the inside...using the _neck_ of a cello." Slowly yet forcefully, he eased the neck of the cello through the mouth and down the neck. "Powder on the wound," Will spoke as he acted, "Rosin from the bow." With a shaky hand, he picked up the rosined bow and sat behind Douglas; rather, what remained of Douglas. "I wanted to play him. I wanted to create a sound...My sound." He timidly slid the bow across the vocal cords, using his right hand. His left held the back of Douglas' head in a nurturing, almost sustaining way. "This is my design." A sad, dark song played from the throat of the man, Will composing his own tune. He closed his eyes, a sickening feeling looming in his heart and lungs as Norah came to mind. He felt himself grow shaky, startled by the sound of a single aggressive pair of hands clapping in the audience. He opened his eyes. Sitting in a middle seat of the sixth row was Garret Jacob Hobbs, praising Will's song.

* * *

Back at his office, he sat behind his desk, staring intently at a stack of papers he needed to grade. He clicked his pen rapidly, the only thing presenting he could move. The rest of him was still. He heard a screaming woman in the distance, and though he _knew_ it was in his head, it never ceased. In his peripheral vision, he saw a black stag walked past the door. Raising his head and standing from his chair, he wiped off his glasses with the end of his shirt and walked out of his office, following the stag down the hall. When it stopped walking, Will approached it and reached out a hand to feel it's almost feather-like coat. "Will?" he heard, lowering his arm and turning. It was Jack.

"Oh. Hey Jack." Will cleared his throat and dashed his eyes to where the wall met the floor.

"Is something wrong with your arm?"

"-No." Will cut him off quickly, then placed a hand on the opposing arm. "I-it's fine. Thank you."

They stood in silence, Jack shooting an intensely concerned glance, and Will avoiding it as much as he could. "How are things going with Dr. Lecter?" Jack asked, obviously thinking Will was disturbed. _Smart man, _Will thought.

"Things are completely professional, going as planned. I don't need to be psychoanalyzed, but he provides me...insight."

"I see," Jack droned. "...You know Wil-"

"-So the records don't show any sign of schizophrenia," Norah cut off Agent Crawford, coming from a room just behind where he was standing. Jack turned to face her, "Aah, yes, thank you Miss Cowan," he smiled at her, taking a group of papers and looking through them. Norah looked up from the papers to find Will's eyes on her. When their gaze met, Will looked away. Jack couldn't help but raise his head in an attempt to determine the cause of the silence. "Hello, Mr. Graham," Norah broke the awkward silence.

"Hi."

"...I'm well, yeah, I can't...can't complain," he stammered, "Yourself?"

"Me? Oh, I'm golden," she turned back to Agent Crawford and asked, "So should I just run these over to the lab?"

"Actually, if you could bring those to Mandy with your analysis I would appreciate it."

"Okay, yeah!" She started to walk away when Will said, "I-it was good seeing you."

She turned around, walking backwards for a moment, to smile and wave at Will before turning around the corner, as if nothing was wrong.

_As if nothing was wrong._

Will felt his heart sink; the anxious, echoing sensation of a broken heart. His mind was flooded. _Did she even care? Did he make too much out of what they had? Would she ever change her mind? Why did he even care about her? _He knew the answer to all of them, but didn't want to face the facts. She didn't care. He did make too much out of what they had. She would never change her mind. And he cared because she was wonderful, the only person who made him feel happy to be alive, the only person to bring him sanity when he needed it most. The feeling of crushed hope and bitter reality punched him in the stomach repeatedly, taunting him. Will was crushed, and at the level of disturbance he was living right now, he didn't know if he would be able to recover.

* * *

The door to the home of Tobias Budge, suspected murderer of Douglas Wilson, was knocked upon the next afternoon. Opening the door, he discovered Special Agent Will Graham with two other FBI officers. "Are you the owner," Will asked with a scratchy, tired voice.

"Yes."

"Tobias Budge."

"Yes, please, come in," the man smiled and invited them into his home with a warm gesture. The three investigators proceeded. "What can I help you with?"

"We're investigating the death of Douglas Wilson."

"He...he was the trombonist," Tobias sighed.

"That's right," one officer asked, "did you know him?"

"I was aware of him. Baltimore is a small town, and the cultural arts community is an even smaller one."

"Well, that's why we're here, Mr. Budge," Will mumbled while walking into a room where Tobias must give cello lessons.

"I hear someone cut his throat and tried to play it with a bow," Tobias followed them into the room. Will turned slowly towards Tobias, approaching him slightly. "Why do you say 'try'?" he questioned. He couldn't help but notice Tobias' barely noticeable accelerating breath and dilating eyes, not to mention the emotions of masked panic immediately picked up by Will.

"The strings have to be treated," Tobias replied cooly. "You can't just open somebody up and draw a bow across their innards and expect to produce a sound."

"The vocal chords were chemically treated, uh, similar to how catgut string is treated," Will sighed as he walked around the practice room, scanning for clues. "We kept those details out of the press."

"Looking for someone who knows how to manufacture gut strings? Anybody leap to mind?" the other officer asked Tobias. Mr. Budge walked over to a bunch of tied strings, handing them to the officer. "Mine are imported from Italy. Best catgut is...The string section of the Baltimore Metropolitan Orchestra refuses to play anything else. More authentic. A richer, darker sound...it allows music to say what words can't."

At that, Will immediately remembered the song he played in his fantasy about how he felt for Ms. Cowan. Closing his eyes and playing it again in his head, he heard tires screeching, a crash. Shrieking and moaning sounded simultaneously with a car horn honking. Will looked to his officers, wide-eyed.

"...Something wrong?" an officer asked him.

"D-didn't you hear that?!" Will asked, slightly panicked.

"I didn't hear anything," the other officer said.

Will paused a moment before saying, "Excuse me a minute," under his breath and walking out of the home and onto the street. He looked around at the road for any sign of an accident, this time hearing the same wailing animal call as the night he went out to find the animal in his head, the night that tied into the morning of finding himself on the roof. That morning he spent with Norah, feeling sanity and adoration for once in his life. Feeling like he mattered to someone. Feeling her lips against his passionately...pain seared through him at rapid frequencies as he fumbled through his pockets to find his anxiety medication, popping two and taking deep breaths. He waited for the animal noises to fade before returning inside the home.

"Sorry about that," he spoke as he stepped into the foyer of the home. There was dead silence. "...Officers?" He approached the practice room, the door was shut. Putting his hand on the gun at his hip, he asked again, "Officers?" before hiding behind the door and hitting it open. The only occupant of the room was one officer, a bow through his skull, dead on the ground. "Shit," Will muttered before talking into his walkie talkie, "I need ERT at Chordophone Strings, downtown Baltimore. Officer down." He turned to find the other officer, a door leading to a dark basement wide open. He quietly walked down the steps, gun extended before him.

In the basement, skins were soaked in chemicals and water, hung over racks. Organs were jarred, almost preserved or pickled. The smell of the air was sickening, dank and vinegary. Will held back a gag as he approached the body of the other officer, face down in a trough of metal strings and water. Will lifted the man's head up from his hair, only to reveal a scratched, peeling face, indented and bloody from the wires that sliced through the flesh and tissue, almost the muscle.

Will swallowed down his fear only to be greeted from behind by a series of thick metal strings from Tobias. Holding him from behind and choking him, slicing him with the wires, Will struggled to be set free but soon found he was tangled. _Think, Will. _The man was a musician, and obviously on the insane side of his passion for music. Of course he wouldn't want to sacrifice his hearing. Struggling for air, Will managed to pull out his gun and shoot it into the air since he couldn't turn towards Tobias. It worked. A near-deafening ring echoed through the basement as the sound of the bullet rebounded from wall to wall. Tobias dropped the wires and covered his ears, making his way out of the basement. Will collapsed on his knees, coughing for air and observing the cuts of struggle on his hands , jaw, neck, and shoulders. He wasn't bleeding too deeply. Shaken, he stood to chase after Tobias, but when he got out of the basement, he was already gone. "Dammit!" Will yelled but was unable to hear.

* * *

When the ERT arrived with Jack Crawford, Will had regained his hearing. Not perfect clarity, but enough to get by. He was told he would recover within 12 hours. He looked around for Norah, but she wasn't anywhere to be found. "She couldn't make it," Jack told him, almost reading his thoughts. Will looked to his side and then turned to Jack, wanting to ask how he knew, or at least cover and ask "what are you talking about?". But there was no point in lying, so he instead was silent for a moment.

"...Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine. Caught up in some Abigail/Freddie nonsense. That Ms. Lounds is playing with young Ms. Hobb's sanity, and you know how...persistent Ms. Cowan is. She won't put up with it. They are in some sort of session."

Will nodded. "...Does she know-"

"About this?" Jack shook his head. "We couldn't get ahold of her. Like I said, in session."

"Mmm. And you know with Freddie she's probably pretty aggravated, huh?" Will chuckled nervously, joined in by a good natured Jack.

"Listen. Will," he started. "I'm not an idiot." Will lifted his head to meet Jack's gaze, staring at his forehead rather than direct eye contact. "It isn't my place to ask what's going on with you two. But I couldn't help but noticed that you aren't...with us. Norah is so jam-packed with work that the whole bureau, including me, throw at her that..." Jack sighed, "I don't know where I'm going with this Will. I really don't. Just try to not beat yourself up about it."

"Thanks." Will gave a monotone, yet genuine appreciation shined through. Not valued appreciation, but still consideration nonetheless.

"You're a smart man, Will. If you're having any problems, talk to Dr. Lecter." Jack started to walk away before adding, "And for what it's worth, my door's always open too."

* * *

Tobias and Franklyn's bodies were found dead at Hannibal's apartment when he called the police.

"I was worried you were dead," Hannibal greeted Will with a friendly hand on the shoulder before allowing him to come into his home, followed by multiple investigators as well as Jack Crawford.

"Tobias Budge killed two Baltimore police officers, nearly killed an FBI special agent, and after all of that, his first stop is here, at your office?" Jack sounded suspicious, but not of Hannibal.

"He came to kill my patient," Hannibal replied smoothly.

"Your patient," he nodded at Franklyn's body, laying dead on the floor. "Is that who Budge was serenading?"

"I don't know," Hannibal started before guiding Jack through a report of what occurred at his apartment, "Franklyn knew more than he was telling me. He told Mr. Budge that he didn't have to kill anymore. And then he broke Franklyn's neck, and then he attacked me."

"You killed him?"

"Yes," Hannibal imitated a shaken yet composed voice, portraying someone who had never so much as hurt a man in his life.

"Could Franklyn have been involved in whatever Budge was doing?"

"I thought this was a simple matter of poor choice in friends-"

"-Yeaaah, well this doesn't feel simple to me," Jack grumbled. "Thank you, Dr. Lecter." He then joined with other investigators, letting them fill him in on their reports.

Hannibal went to his desk towards the back of the room, sitting in his chair and staring at his shoes while the officers were at work. Will walked over to him and leaned against the desk, facing him. "I uh...I feel like I've dragged you into my world," he chortled sadly.

"I got here on my own," Hannibal assured him, "But I appreciate the company." Will and Hannibal shared a friendly smile before Hannibal noticed the deep cuts in Will's palms and neck, one sinking into his lower jaw. "What happened to you?" Hannibal asked, curious yet caring in a twisted way.

"Oh. Tobias tried to...attack me with his strings."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Have your wounds gone untreated?"

"Yeah, the EMTs wanted to tend to them but, I figured it's nothing a little cleaning can mend. They are more indentations as opposed to splits, so I don't think I'll need stitches."

"Allow me," Dr. Lecter offered a hand to Will. He laid his cut hand on Hannibal's for examination, but couldn't help but notice how cold and clammy he was. "Are you okay?"

"Of course. Why Will?"

"You're a bit cold. You aren't feeling ill about...you know...killing someone, are you?"

"I did what I had to do, Will," Hannibal said, dismissing Will's hand and standing, placing his hands on his face and tilting Will's head back to examine the wound on his jawline. "Let that be a lesson to you."

"I know killing Garret Jacob Hobbs was an act of self-defense, but...I still can't help but feel...haunted."

"That is you empathy coming into play, William. Hopefully, we can continue finding way for you to cope with it." After inspecting the neck wounds, Hannibal walked into the kitchen, Will following sheepishly behind, wanting to tell him about Norah but not knowing how to put it in words.

"I couldn't help but notice your eyes were darker and more red. I'd say almost sad," Hannibal began, pouring himself a glass of wine and offering Will one.

"I'll pass," Will stated before, "I didn't know sadness was so detectable from looking at someone's eyes."

_Please,_ Hannibal thought, _you think I saw it in your eyes? I could smell it off of you the second you walked into my apartment. _Instead, Hannibal answered, "Has someone else commented on your eyes?"

"Jack did."

"I'm surprised, Agent Crawford doesn't seem like the type of man to pick up on these things," he sipped the dark red wine, "I personally thought that even if he did, he wouldn't mention it."

"Jack isn't quite as cold as you make him to be," Will smiled to himself.

A ping of jealousy coursed through Hannibal's veins as a microscopic grimace trailed across his lips. He wanted to be Will's mentor, him and him alone. "Does he know about Norah?"

"He knows something's up, but doesn't know what."

"Do you intend to tell him?"

"I figured that could just stay between you and me."

Hannibal's grimace turned to a grin as he felt a certain significance once again. _Why him? _Hannibal wondered. _Why do I need to feel his attention and appreciation alone...I know. So I can morph him. Make him my own. A new project. _

"I ran into Norah yesterday. That was the last time I saw her, actually," Will's voice cracked ever so slightly.

"You told her how you felt. She didn't comply. What do you think you should do now?" Dr. Lecter tested Will.

Will's eyebrows raised as he shook his head. "I don't know."

_Pathetic,_ Dr. Lecter thought, _I love it. _"Don't worry, Will. That's what I'm here for."

* * *

The hot water of his shower created a nearly opaque steam that wrapped around Will like a cotton sheet. He faced the streams of water rather than putting his back to it, running his hands through his thick hair in a downward motion that always seemed to calm him down. Closing his eyes, he saw flashes of the elk that stalked him, the sliced face of the officer and the other one with a bow in his skull. The girl mounted on the antlers slowly lifted her head and the other girl laying down on the antlers rose up, having to jerk herself up quickly to get the antlers out of her ribs. Will's song played through his head on a loop as the skinned angels flew down over Garret Jacob Hobbs. The song intensified in Will's head as the scene turned black, a spotlight on Garret. His back was turned to Will, but Will could see he was holding a woman in his arms, a woman who was crying and shaking. Will tried to yell but couldn't hear as he approached Garret. Reaching out to him, Hobbs turned around, holding a blade to not Abigail's throat, but Norah's. She screamed as the blade slid across her, and Will suddenly heard himself yell, "NO!"

Apparently he yelled it in real life, for it woke him from his fantasy. The water had gone cold.

He began to cry.

In an attempt to get his mind off of everything, off of Norah, off of the violence, off of his issues, off of work, off of _everything_, he decided to read. He chose one of his favorite authors, Edgar Allan Poe, and laid flat under the sheets with his back against the backboard. Winston laid on the bed at his feet, the two older dogs downstairs, and the remaining dogs beside him on the ground, whimpering for attention. He tried to ignore them, but couldn't, and soon found himself reading and rereading the same line of the book, unable to focus. One dog, Darrin, lifted a paw on the bed, begging for Will to play with him. It was almost as if they were trying to cheer _him_ up. Still, he kept rereading the line of the book, his mind not registering it, but registering every possible situation that could have gone better with Norah. He flashed back to all the stories she told him, the times they would spend together at work, when she spent the night at his house, when he helped her move into her apartment, the hospital, the this, the that, that _kiss_ that he never wanted to end...all things he would never get back. He tortured himself with alternative scenarios that would never be. Eventually snapping out of it, he finally _read_ the line of the book so he could move on, but rather closed the book as soon as he read it:

_It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom._

* * *

**FUCK BITCHES GET MONEY! SHIT IS GOING DOWN WITH NORAH NEXT CHAPTER WHADDUP WHATS GONNA HAPPEN!? Thank you guys again, soooo much. Seriously, you're the best.**


	8. VIII: Bad Advice from Good People

**Ugh. School is starting. I feel my internal organs shutting down. My body is not ready.**

**I only own Norah Cowan.**

* * *

Cameras flashed and clicked all around as Will stared up at the totem pole of dismembered body parts and dead bodies before him. On the foggy beach, the grey and bloody parts were tangled, bodies and severed parts stacked and tied upon each other to be twenty five feet in the air, a severed head topping the sculpture. "World's sickest jigsaw puzzle."

"Yeah, but where are the corners?" Price, a fellow member of the bureau asked.

"...What?" Will asked, lackadaisically.

"My mom always said, start a jigsaw with the corners."

Will shut his eyes in frustration, his patience growing slim. "Uhh the heads are the corners, I guess? We've got too many corners."

"Seven graves," Agent Zeller sighed.

"Way too many heads," Price added.

"The headpiece appears to be the only recent victim. The others are years, even decades old," Katz reported after examining the bodies.

"And we know that seven of the bodies were buried out here," Jack added in, approaching the group.

"Whoever dug them up knew exactly where they were buried," Will pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think faster rather than drift into another depressing or horrifying fantasy.

"I guess it wasn't enough for him to kill them once," said Jack, "He had to come back and defile his victims-"

"-These graves weren't desecrated, Jack," Will said. "They were exposed..." his eyes became foggy and he had to shut them, feeling a small tremor run through his body. Far away, he heard Jack declare, "Okay, everybody, let's go, clear the scene!" trying to get everyone out of the way for Will to do what he did best. The pendulum swung in front of his eyes as his hearing shifted through various resonances to an echoed white noise.

Will stared at the limbs and graying, decayed bodies before him, laying on the sand. "I planned this moment, this _monument,_ with precision." He kneeled down, sawing off the arms and legs of the seven innocent lives he had brutally taken. "Collecting all my raw materials in advance." He brought the freshly cut limbs back over to the pile of old ones, and brought out the strong twine, beginning to stack them and tie them, creating a tower. "I position the bodies carefully, according each it's rightful place." Packing a thick, cold thigh in between a torso and a shoulder blade, he added, "There is peace now, in the pieces disassembled." He used a ladder when the tower became high enough, before walking down it and staring at the man with the broken, bashed legs before him. Staring him dead in the eye, he announced, "My latest victim, I save for last." He cut off the man's calf slowly, hearing him scream through his taped mouth. "I want him to watch me work." He placed the bleeding calf like a Jenga block around the base of the totem-pole of bodies. "I want him...to _watch _my design." He cut off the man's arms, climbing up the ladder and shoving them in as well. Standing back, he observed his work, the large, morbid pillar standing before him.

"This is my résumé...this is my body of work." Turning from the statue, he strutted calmly to the dying man in the sand, sawing off his head and listening to the man's final gargles. He climbed up the ladder and tied the head onto the pile. "This is my legacy."

Awaking from his fantasy, he found himself clutching his arm tightly and almost hobbling over, as if he had been shot. Agents Zeller and Katz immediately grabbed him from behind, easing him down onto the ground. "Will! Will!" Will heard them but couldn't respond. He somehow felt his heartbeat in his eyes, his fingertips, everywhere, as he heard everything else in short bursts and drags. Eventually, he found himself breathing heavily, shirt unbuttoned, looking around in a panic. "Give him some air!" Jack yelled. Everyone seemed to back up except for him and Agent Katz. "Will. Are you okay?!"

"Y-y-yes," he breathed. He began to feel beads of cold sweat dripping down the nape of his neck.

"Do you know where you are?" Katz spoke clearly and slowly.

"...The beach. Crime scene."

"Okay. Good."

Will propped himself up with his palms, despite hearing people around him advising him otherwise.

"Graham," Jack spoke, "Tell us about this guy. Maybe we can catch him without you-"

"-No, Jack, this is my job," he said between slowing breaths.

"Your job is to help us find the guy, to get in the mind of the crime scene and the criminal. You've gone that far. Now all you have to do is tell us who he is."

* * *

"How many bodies? Including the ones buried here?" Will asked, at the lab. He went against Jack's not completely passionate will, rather than taking a break.

"Seventeen," replied Zeller, "Meet our freshest one, Joel Summers. Forty years old, runs a cellphone store in Knoxville-"

"-or did," added Price.

"Been missing for three days, single stab wound to the heart. Other injuries were post-mortem broken bones, dislocated hips, shoulders."

"He was special to him somehow. He held a place of honor," Will groaned in a tired, sickly tone. He didn't see Price and Zeller exchange a concerned and uncomfortable glace.

"...Seven bodies from unmarked graves found at the crime scene. Earth from the body parts matches the grave sites. Blunt force trauma, stabbings, strangulations-"

"-Wrongful deaths," Will added in, "This killer's design was to remain unnoticed, a ghost. That is what excited him. Until now. Why is he coming out into the light..."

"Will?" Zeller asked, "I don't want to interrupt if you're rehearsing-"

"Uhn no, no, no. It's ok, it's ok. Very moody in here." He shifted uncomfortably where he sat before walking out of the lab, leaving a message on Jack's machine telling him about taking a brief leave. It was beginning to feel like it was too much long ago, and with his mind in the gutter emotionally and with his mental health at stake, he finally faced facts. He needed a break, no matter how much his thoughts haunted him when he was alone.

* * *

Will poured himself a cup of coffee the next morning, sleeping in till about 10:30. A navy blue, soft sweater was pulled over his bare chest, and he wore dark brown pants without any socks or shoes. He needed a lazy day. His eyes were slightly red, yet the prominent dark circles remained against his pale skin. Yawning, he sipped as his coffee while reading, _Traumatic Incident Reduction _by Gerald D. French, though it never seemed to help him figure things out or soothe his slipping, fading thoughts. Nothing seemed to help the way Norah did. He wasn't dependent on her, but...he couldn't describe it. He _wanted_ her in his life. The way she calmed him and gently guided him by the hand back to reality, where she was waiting to make everything better. He held his forehead in his hands while casually sipping again, reviewing the past few months in a blur; pausing at the most gruesome and heart-wrenching scenes.

Hearing a thumping at his feet, he looked down to see Winston wagging his tail, sitting at his master's heel as always. However, he wasn't begging at the table, he heard something. Ears perked up and facing the door, Winston seemed to know something Will didn't. Almost instantly, the other dogs outside started barking, happily rather than threatened or aggressive. "What is it, boy?" He stood up and walked outside with him, seeing Norah's repaired Honda Civic parked down the driveway. He felt like smiling, but also felt like yelling and crying. It all depended on what she was here for.

_Business, not pleasure_, he assumed.

The three dogs ran over to her ecstatically while the two older ones hobbles along, wagging their tails at a rapid pace. Greeting them all for a moment, using a playful tone and affectionately petting them, she lifted her head to see Will, standing on the porch. "Hello Will," she beamed. He only raised his eyebrows and flashed a quick smile.

"What can I do you for?" Will asked in a monotone. "Unless I called in my sleep again," he laughed nervously, unable to stay bitter.

"No, you didn't call," she laughed back. She stayed off the porch, staring at him in a way Will had never seen before.

"D-do you want to come in? I promise I won't try to kiss you again," he managed to joke yet sadness dwelled in his tone.

She didn't laugh, but rather gave him a concerned, almost hurt look. "...are you okay?"

Now he was confused. "Uhhm, yeah. I'm fine?" He tried to avoid eye contact in this awkward moment, nary a clue as to what what going on. "...Why?"

He heard her sniffle and looked back at her immediately, knowing full well that she was crying; or near tears. "Whats...are you okay-"

"I should have been there!" she started, looking up as if it would prevent the tears from falling from her eyes. "I should have been there the day Tobias attacked you!"

He laughed it off, "Oh that? Come on, it isn't your department. You were doing your job-"

"-_FUCK MY JOB_, Will! You could have _died__! _Do you not realize that?"

"Well it isn't like I haven't been in that situation before! Norah, what's wron-"

"-And passing out on the beach-"

"-You heard about that?"

"Oh, Jack told me!" she swiftly grabbed a tear from above the apple of her cheek. He let her collect herself for a moment, waiting for her to continue; however much it hurt him to see her cry. She radiated sadness and remorse all the way from where she stood.

"I...I don't even know what to say," she began. "Will...I am so, so sorry. About everything! About, about leading you on, about pushing you away...I am so sorry."

"Norah, it's fine," he sighed. "You did what you had to do, I understand-"

She shook her head. "No, Will! It isn't okay you had to risk your life for me to realize that I'm falling for you too!" Will felt his heart become warm and rapid as his eyes widened, masking a grin on his face. "...What?"

"I didn't know why I thought I could only be your colleague. Why I couldn't help you through this and still have feelings for you. You need someone Will, and honestly, I do too! And...the way you make me feel...I don't know, Will, I guess what I'm trying to say is...I need you too." He couldn't help but lower his head to hide his smile, raising it to see Norah, still uncomfortable and upset. He stepped off the porch and walked towards her at an unchanging pace.

"I know I ruined my chance, I know I did-" he came even closer, she continued, "-and I'll regret it for god knows how long, but-"

He cut her off by swooping in and kissing her passionately, both scratched hands on her cheeks, lowering his head. She stood shocked for a moment before fluttering her eyes shut and wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. He barely pulled back and stared into her eyes, smiling. "You have no idea how badly I wanted to hear that," he purred.

"I heard I've been affecting your work performance," she murmured back.

He chuckled, "Is there anything Jack doesn't tell you?"

"What can I say? With a job like mine, people can't resist talking to you. I just wish I could give myself better advice-"

"-That doesn't matter," he smiled for what seemed like the first time in a week, "What matters is we're happy now...right?"

She mirrored his smile, "Yes." He laughed nervously yet with excitement before asking, "So...does this mean, we're-"

"-Together?"

"Yeah, together-"

"-Well, I don't know, do you want t-"

"-Yes-" he interrupted her, wide-eyed. "I mean...do you?"

"Definiteley-"

"-Okay!"

"Okay cool."

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a moment before bursting out laughing. "That was the most awkward way I have ever asked a woman out,"

"It's okay, I thought it was cute," she smiled.

"Yeah, well, you'd probably be alone in that," he sighed happily, staring into her eyes. They were the only eyes he seemed to not only stomach staring into, but love staring into. Silence ensued once more, this time broken by Norah.

"Let me see your hands," she requested.

"Ahh, they aren't that bad, he removed his hands from around her, still standing only a few inches away, revealing his scratched indented palms to her. She winced in sympathy.

"Jesus," she whispered, "And your neck?"

He pulled down the collar of his sweater and she lightly touched the wound, then noticing his jaw. "These look deep! What did he use?"

"A collection of metal wires used in making...some sort of stringed instrument, I assume," he sighed.

She scolded herself, "I should have been there-"

"_Stop that,_" he took her hands from his jawline and held them. "It's okay, really."

"If you say so," she sighed. A moment passed before she playfully asked, "So do you want to make out now?"

"Wha-" he was cut off by her full lips pressing against his, her hands running through his hair aggressively, scratching down the nape of his neck, then down his back. He moaned in the kiss, out of surprise and a pleasure he wasn't used to, before pulling her by her waist against his body with firm hands. He kissed her deeper and faster, the only sound in the air coming from the breeze, the birds chirping, the occasional dog whimper, bark, or pant, and the sound of their lips locking again and again. He traced her bottom lip with the very tip of his tongue before she started pushing him backward, yet walking with him. "Let's go inside," she managed through heavy breathing, all he could manage was something like "Yeah, yeah," before continuing to kiss her, walking backwards.

"Watch out, steps," she warned him. He broke from their kiss for a second to check the step behind him, then lifted her up, letting her wrap her legs around his waist. She giggled, causing him to smile mid-kiss. The screen door burst open as they stumbled into the house, their kiss intensifying. They made their way clumsily to the couch, where he lowered himself down, the lower he went, the more she supported herself. Eventually he was laying down, sliding his hands from her hair down her back, her hips, and holding her waist. She moved her hands all over his chest, her teasing causing him to roll over and hover over her. Out of anticipation, she couldn't help but rock her hips ever so slightly, causing Will to feel flushed with warmth. He pulled away from the kiss, her biting his lip and tugging on it playfully. He moved to her jaw and down to her neck, remembering the spot he kissed her last time (or tried to). Gently grazing his teeth while kissing and sucking on it, he heard a throaty moan glide out from her with an adorable upward inflection that drove him crazy.

Timidly, yet with skilled hands, he worked his hands just under her shirt above where her pants started, right at her hips. Hearing her laugh lightly, he pulled his mouth away from her collar, asking "What?" with a nervous yet happy shake.

"Winston's watching," she giggled. He turned and saw his loyal companion whimpering and wagging his tail, cocking his head to the side in confusion. "Winston!" Will called quickly, "Winston go upstairs!" Winston whimpered again. This time, they both urged him, "Winston, go upstairs boy! Go on!" He turned and went up the stairs, his claws tapping on the wood. They heard the bed upstairs squeak when Winston jumped on it. Will turned back to Norah, "Sorry about that," he laughed. She pulled him closer by the collar of his sweater and kissed him again, sending chills and heat through his body.

* * *

"I don't know, I don't really go in for crowded places," Will told Norah the next morning back at work. He leaned back and barely spun himself in his office chair while she stood by his desk, in front of him.

"Really? I never would have known that," she laughed.

"Hilarious. Well you wanted to know why I didn't go-"

"-And I guess I got the answer!"

"Hey," he explained, "I love Mumford and S-"

"Apparently not enough to go to their concerts," she teased.

"Psh."

"I don't know, Will. I don't think this is gonna work out, you aren't a real fan."

He chuckled, clicking a pen in his hand, "Try me-"

Their trivial conversation was interrupted by Zeller knocking on the door, observing both of them with a suspicious grin. "Uhh...hey," he started.

"Hey, Zeller, come in! Please!" Will greeted his coworker with a gesture of his hand, not feeling uncomfortable when looking him in the eyes.

"You're looking well, glad you're back."

"Thank you, I'm glad to be here."

Zeller raised the blue file in his hands, presenting it to Will. "So you think this is our guy?!"

"You told me yourself, Joel Summers, the headpiece of our totem pole, was adopted after his parents died. The father, Fletcher Marshall. Joel Summers is Joel Marshall-"

"Uh, we did a DNA comparison between Fletcher Marshall and Joel Summers. No match."

Will thought for a moment. "Hmmm...So Marshall's son wasn't his son? The mom, Eleanor, was killed in a car accident four years after Fletcher was killed."

"Genuine car accident?"

"If she was murdered, she would have been on the totem pole," Norah filled in, interrupted by Will.

"Well, unless he loved her too much to disgrace her that way."

"Ahh," she nodded.

"There was a man named Laurence Wells who was questioned twice in 1973. Never charged."

"Still lives in Grafton," Zeller's eyes widened at Will's realization.

"Fletcher Marshall was a crime of passion. It had something that none of the other murders had. Motive."

Agent Zeller nodded. "If you two will come with me to Agent Crawford, we can dispatch some people out to Mr. Well's home." Will and Norah looked at each other, confirming the plan. "Alright," Norah smiled. Walking behind Agent Zeller, Will stayed silent while Norah asked him several questions, how his kids were, how was the vacation, are you still interested in tennis, etc. etc. He loved the way she genuinely cared about everyone she worked with, and while his two coworkers conversed about their lives and interests, Will moved his hand to Norah's and locked his fingers with hers, holding her hand tightly.

When they arrived at Jack's office, he was on the phone. Looking from his desk, he hung up, dismissing whoever was on the other line. Zeller requested a dispatch, and Will provided his insight, Norah adding a sketch of a psychological profile as well. "Okay," Crawford sighed, "We'll send out some investigators. Will, you're staying here. We don't want you out on the field for this, considering what happened last time." Zeller agreed with Crawford before leaving the room, off to gather some agents to send.

"Well, Jack," Will began, "I'll need to be out there for my job, you don't intend to keep me here, do you?"

Agent Crawford sighed. "Next case, we'll send you out. Take a breather, Graham. You can't take all of these. You aren't responsible for everything."

Norah nodded. "He's right." Her phone sounded in her pocket, she picked it up with her free hand and read a text before sighing, "Abigail."

"Is everything alright?" Will asked concerned.

"She's fine, but Freddie won't be when I'm through with her."

Jack laughed from his desk. Will flashed him a smile before turning back to his girlfriend.

"I gotta go," she sighed.

"Alright," he murmured before kissing her quickly. She pulled away sooner than he desired before walking down the hallway to the elevator.

"Uh oh," Jack broke the brief silence. Will turned to his boss to find him smirking. "...What?"

"Nothing. You've seemed to really perk back up, Will. I've got to give you credit."

Will nodded once, a gesture of thanks, before leaving the room.

"Is she the reason you came back?" he heard behind him.

Will sighed, "She's definitely one of them, Jack," and continued walking, hearing Jack mutter, "Nice girl," under his breath.

* * *

**SO YEAH! Things are sweet awwwww 3 Happy chapter. BUT NOT FOR LONG HAHAHHAA COME ONNNNN. You really think everything is smooth sailing from now on?! NO! Stay tuned!**


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